John Fahey: Record Labels and other Trivia for Collectors

An Introduction

2009-11-30T23:59:00.001Z

When I started posting here, it was merely with the intention of putting up pictures of the various labels used on Fahey albums, particularly those released through his own Takoma label, to help date copies, identify earliest pressings and provide a chronological perspective on John's work. But already there's a broadening of objectives with the offer of other material that will be of interest to enthusiasts rather than 'collectors'. It means that the blog title is a little outdated now, but I've got used to it so it's staying!

I must give the International Fahey Committee (henceforth the IFC) an acknowledgement here, with their very comprehensive and well researched information on the johnfahey.com website. It is by far the best Fahey site, and I have put up a couple of links to them on the right. At one point, they hypothesize a discussion in a pub where people debate different theories as to the finer points of Fahey's records, and my posts here will simply be intended to be part of that general ongoing discussion (and with the odd pint or two as well, hopefully). My particular thanks to Paul, Malcolm and David who have given both encouragement and material for posting here. And also to Glenn Jones who has put considerable time into producing some wonderful photographs, and to everyone who have donated material, all of whom are listed for contributions in the sidebar.

Since there is a little confusion, I should make clear that when I say 'Takoma' I am referring to the independent US label that existed from 1959 to 1978; not to companies that reissued material nor those that held any foreign rights to Takoma recordings. Chrysalis and Allegiance pressings are identified as such, unless the record concerned was given its original release by them.

To keep things fairly straightforward, recent posts are now shown in sequence below. You'll find older articles, downloads, and the label posts through the links on the right.

The downloads posted here are of material that is not in commercial circulation, and there seems no obvious likelihood that it will become so. It is not clear who now holds the copyright for John's unreleased work. I hope that people will buy legitimate releases where John's work remains available (and much of it does, of course), and that someone will take on the task of releasing all the other surviving recordings. If you own the rights to any material here, and wish it to be taken down, please email me and I shall of course be happy to do so.

Unless authorship is clearly attributed to others, the written content of this blog is my own work. I am quite happy for this to be quoted elsewhere, providing that I receive an acknowledgement and a link back to the appropriate post.

What's New Here...

2009-11-30T23:58:00.007Z

I'm afraid that ill-health has come between me and this blog for a while but hopefully normal service has now resumed. Particular apologies to everyone who has emailed me, I will be working through my inbox in the next day or two.

I have just posted the 1967 mono recording of Blind Joe Death which I think will be a revelation for anyone who has not heard it before (I've now corrected the faulty link for the download) and also the sleeve notes from the 1967 sleeves for those first three records.

Please feel free to comment on the various posts, other opinions are always welcome.

The Andy Kershaw Session

2009-07-26T22:17:00.008+01:00

This post follows on from comments left on my recent posting of the mono BJD.

In 1987 Fahey recorded a session for the BBC Radio 1 Andy Kershaw programme, performing St Patrick's Hymn, The Sunny Side of the Ocean, Spanish Two-Step, Dance of Death, and Nightmare / Summertime. The commenter Joe pointed out that Delta-Slider had posted the first four of these for download in excellent quality, presumably originating from the session tape since they lack any radio chat. Joe was hoping I'd be able to come up with the final track to a similar standard; sadly I couldn't. But Joe has kindly provided off-air recordings of the session for those who enjoy Kershaw's ramblings or want that fifth tune.

Delta-Slider's post and download is essential. The off-air recordings can be downloaded here. Thanks, Joe.

Volumes 1 - 3: the 1967 sleeve notes

2009-07-23T22:56:00.004+01:00

When Takoma reissued Fahey's first three albums in sleeves designed by Tom Weller in April 1967, the records acquired new sleeve notes, somewhat briefer than those for the original pamphlets. They form an amusing exchange of views between 'Sir Joshua Reynolds' and 'Jack Banister'.

Volume 1:

I have been asked to contribute some explanation of the contests of this recording so that the casual pursuer may have some advance preparation for the initial exposure, a task for which I am hardly equal. However, the publishers have prevailed upon me, saying that they would accept notes from no other, and consequently I have agreed, rather than allow the recording to go, as it were, naked, into the world.

This recording is Mr. Fahey's initial public statement, somewhat revised in 1964 to repair some defects that he and the publisher felt had crept in to the original during the feverous preparation for issuance during the hot summer of 1959. Those who possess the original will doubtless be interested to compare the versions to see which parts the composer felt suitable for change after a five year period. Particularly of interest in this respect is the Transcendental Waterfall.

For those that are totally unfamiliar with Mr. Fahey's work, I hasten to add that, like all of his publicly available works, in this recording subsists the better part of an hour of the performances of this remarkable performer and composer. His own compositions will be found mingled with those of others particularly those others who also worked the fertile vein of music known to us today as the American style of acoustic guitar. The style generally, and Mr. Fahey's particularly sensitive rendering specificly, is noted for its slow unveiling of great depths of beauty.

Sir Joshua Reynolds

Volume 2:

It is time that criticism of Fahey's work was taken from the hands of the sheltered academics, with their ideal theories about his hodology, the epistemological value of his work, and indeed the nature of his inspiration. What matters is the music itself, and not the abstract structures that may be constructed upon it.

Anyone who has heard John's playing in the clubs of Berkeley & Boston knows how far removed John himself is from these controversies, as he sits alone on the stage pondering the next piece to play, bursting into hour long improvisations upon the themes he has embodied in his work. And who could forget the side of Fahey which is seldom written about, the man who talks with his audience about peacocks and intergration, the relative merits of alcohol and lsd, the man who can hold you spellbound with tales of steamboat races, where is this man in the pratter of the Joshua Reynolds of this world.

Just take this record and play it, forgetting the theoretic trash, and listen to the pouring forth of John's soul as he recalls the familiar scenes of his childhood, the legends of the Downfall of the Adelphi Rolling Grist Mill which the older Fishermen of Heliotrope still spin late in the evenings, leaning back on their porches, and witheredly pulling on their pipes.

Jack Banister

Volume 3:

The weeds of the self-named common man school of criticism has reared its head among the flowers of criticism, and I take this opportunity to reply to the remarks of one Mr. Banister lest he prevent the listener from access to the steps of wisdom. While it is true that much of the debate among the Iess informed as to the validity of classifying Mr. Fahey's work with those of the American folk artists from whom he has drawn so much inspiration, has obscured the equally engaging point that he is one of the few artists who have managed to transmute, thru the heat of his artistic forge, the beauties of a lost age into a contemporary idiom thus making available to the modern consciousness the revelations which were the common knowledge of man before the recent and unfortunate technologising of our culture; it is also true that without a knowledge of the roots of mans art the transmission of culture breaks down. Let those who would disparage academic discussion recall that is what separates us from the yawling tribes of aboriginal savages who still inhabit portions of the globe.
Sir Joshua Reynolds

When I think of the years that it takes the timorous to break thru the structures of the dry scholars who sit in their ivyed buildings comparing the portraits of the dead, I weep for mankind. The greatest glory John has is that he is not afraid to leave the bonds of tradition burst behind him in the dust. We cannot forever hide in the truths of the past seeking to endlessly polish our repetitions of the discoveries of other men, particularly those discoveries tossed off in an afternoon intended for the moment and accidentally frozen forever by recordings. Let us be inspired by the courage of the innovators of the past, so that we may live in. the present, and create the future.
John has been one of the first composers of his generation to take advantage of the modern ear for chords and melodies, not to mention the fact that his performances are being recorded on the loose flexible tape used in the industry today rather than the brittle waxen disk common 30 years ago. Creative use of the technology surrounding and liberating us is all that separates us from those yawling tribes of withered aboriginies who sit high in concrete trees passing dried banana shins among themselves and commenting upon their wisdom in saving these relics.
Jack Banister

Blind Joe Death. Volume 1 the 1967 monaural recording

2009-07-23T16:14:00.014+01:00

I promised this some time ago and finally here it is - the 1967 mono version of the Blind Joe Death album. The CD issue of this album used a damaged tape (or maybe it was just poor mastering, but there's audible distortion on the left channel) of the later stereo mix which did the recording no justice whatever, but here (with apologies for surface noise) is the original, 'newly recorded in magnificent mono'.

I've already posted the equivalent recording of Death Chants, where I give a rather blunter assessment of Fahey's use of stereo.

(Note: the troublesome link for the download has now been corrected)

Guitar Volume 4

2009-03-03T15:40:00.007Z

The 1966 release:

Second sleeve,1968:

Third sleeve, circa 1972:

Fourth sleeve, circa 1975:

The earliest sleeve design for Volume 4 had a discography on the back which updated those in the notes that came with the Dance of Death album (the text for the discography can be found in my previous post, although it is easily legible on the photo here). This design did not last long, it had one obvious drawback in that it is very difficult to identify the track listings without a careful reading. So the sleeve was quickly changed and the discography was swapped for a map. The credits and track details are carried forward without alteration. The very plain 'Takoma' name on the front of the sleeve is replaced Tom Weller's new 'T' logo. The record has also acquired a title The Great San Bernadino Birthday Party and other Excursions although this never appears on the record labels.

The front colour of all early sleeves is a deep bronze, with a matt finish. Around 1972 this was changed to a glossy orange. The picture here shows the sleeves either side of the switch to help in showing the difference:

All these covers had been manufactured with a single pasted slick over a black sleeve (hence the black borders). But around 1975 Takoma switched to a conventional construction, as in the final example photographed above. It's worth noting that the credits are entirely unchanged, including the offer of buying the album by mail directly from Takoma (using the long-abandoned Berkeley box no.) for $5. This was the only Fahey album where this information had not been removed by then.

After Takoma passed into the hands of Chrysalis, the album was re-issued, and that sleeve carried the 'dragon' logo used on the sleeves of that era.

Guitar Vol. 4 - the early discographical liner notes

2009-02-28T14:20:00.013Z

When Dance of Death was released in 1965, the notes that came with it included an extensive discography / sessionography covering the period up to the Summer 1964 sessions with Bill Barth at the Adelphi studios. In January 1966 it was updated, but when Guitar Volume 4 appeared later that year the rear of the sleeve had a far more extensive update, although this was quickly removed (and replaced with a map). So here are the notes from the rear liner of that earliest sleeve (typos reproduced 'as is'):

DISCOGRAPHY OF JOHN FAHEY: Summer 1964 - June I, 1966

23. Early June, 1965. Topanga, California. John Fahey - gtr, Mayne Smith - bjo ( -2), Mark Levine - 2nd gtr ( -3), unk kazoo.

Train -2, 3
Television Song
Long Journey Home -2, 3
How Long
Willie Moore
House Carpenter
Texas & Pacific Blues -2, 3, 4
Bicycle Built for Two
Untitled Piece in E Modal
I Sing A Song of the Saints of God
The Portland Cement Factory at Monolith, California.

This session was cut for Delta, an L. A. label which never made any records. The following titles were used by Riverboat for its lp The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death which was issued in an edition of 50 copies with hand-lettered labels and no jackets late in 1965. No further pressings have been made. (June 1966)

Come Back Baby
St. Patrick's Hymn
Brenda's Blues
Beautiful Linda Getchell -2
How Green Was My Valley
101 is a Hard Road to Travel
The Death of Clayton Peacock

24. Late July, 1965. MIT, Cambridge, Mass. John Fahey - gtr.

Riverboat:
Orinda/Moraga
I Am the Ressurection
On the Sunny Side of the Ocean
Bicycle Built for Two
Old Southern Medeley

Takoma C 1008: Add Mysterious Al Wilson – veena
Sail Away Ladies
Unissued: John Fahey - gtr, veena; N.S.Dusty - gtr. -2

Western Medley -2
Durgan Park
The Bitter Lemon

Certain songs recorded at the Topanga session were also recorded at this session and then destroyed.

25. 3 weeks preceeding Aug. 26, 1965. NYC. Elektra unissued instructional album illustrating various styles of blues guitar. William Barth is present on some of these sides.

Title (Artist)
Smoketown Strut (Sylvester Weaver)
(Steel) Guitar Rag ( " )
Squabblin' Blues (Barefoot Bill from Ala.)
Police Sargent Blues (Robert Timothy Wilkins)
Church Bell Blues (Luke Jordan)
99 Year Blues (Julius Daniels)
It Won't Be Long (Frank Stokes)
Memphis Woman ( " )
Nobody's Business ( " )
Nobody's Dirty Business (Mississippi John Hurt)
Stack-O-Lee 11 ( " )
Old Country Rock (William Moore)
Big Road Blues (Tommy Johnson)
Down the Dirt Road Blues (Charlie Patton)
Maggie Campbell Blues (Tommy Johnson)
A Rag Blues (Walter Hawkins)
Snatch It and Grab It ( " )
And various other songs illustrating various other artists.

In addition John cut a number of pieces of his own material for audition purposes. He reports that today (June 3, 1966) he has not been paid for these, nor have the tapes been returned. The titles follow: Mysterious Al Wilson present on veena -1

On the Banks of the Owchita -1
Sail Away Ladies -1
The Revolt of the Brontasauraus
Delta Serenade
Green Green

26. Nov. 26, 1965. Jabberwock Coffeehouse, Berkely, Calif. Recorded in concert for Takoma records.

How Long
On the Banks of the Owchita
The Dance of the Inhabitants
Variations on Eck Robertson
The Revolt of the Dyke Brigade
Durgan Park
The Death of the Clayton Peacock
I am the Resurection
The Great San Bernardino Birthday Party
When the Springtime Comes Again
Orinda/Moraga
Some Summer Day, part 1
Southern Medeley
101 is a Hard Road toTravel
Some Summer Day, part 2
Willie Moore

add: ED Denson, harmonica
Le Vieux Soulard Et Sa Femme
I Woke Up One Morning in May

27. Nov. 28, 1965: Arhoolie Studios, Berkeley, Calif.
Takoma C 1008: The Great San Bernardino Birthday Party

Unissued:
Joe Kirby Blues
Variations on Eck Robertson
Jim Lee Blues
Loch Lohman
Willie Moore
Untitled Epic

Add: ED Denson, harmonica
One Day in May
Le Vieux Soulard Et Sa Femme
Maryland My Maryland
The Bear Went Over the Mountain

28. Sierra Sound Laboratories. Berkeley, Calif. Early 1966.
Takoma C 1008:
Oh Come Oh Come Emanuael
Knott's Berry Farm Molly

29. Takoma Studios, Berkeley, Calif. April 8, 1966. Takoma unissued:

Lo the Rose Ever Blooms
Finlandia
Jim Lee Blues
In the Garden
The- Revolt of the Dyke Brigade
Television Rag
The Portland Cement Factory at Monolith California
A Rag

RECORDING DATA FOR THIS RECORD

The Great San Bernardino Birthday Party (Berkeley, Nov. -Dec. 1965: John Fahey, guitar)
Knott's Berry Farm Molly (Berkeley, early 1966, John Fahey, guitar)
Will the Circle Be Unbroken (Washington, May 1962: John Fahey, guitar; Flea, organ)
Guitar Excursion Into the Unknown (Berkeley, Summer 1963: John Fahey, guitar)
900 Miles (Washington D.C., c July 11, 1962: John Fahey, guitar; Nancy McLean, flute)
Sail Away Ladies (Cambridge, Mass., July 1965 :Mysterious Al Wilson, veena)
Oh Come Oh Come Emanuael (Berkeley, early 1966)

PRODUCTION CREDITS FOR THIS RECORD

Artists: John Fahey, Nancy McLean, Flea, Mysterious Al Wilson
Production: John Fahey, ED Denson
Editorial Assistant: Barry Hansen
Guitar on certain cuts, supplied by Pat Sullivan
Cover Design: David Goines
Recording: John Fahey, Chris Strachwitz, ED Denson, Sierra Sound Laboratories

TAKOMA RECORDS: CATALOG OF ISSUES
B 1001: Bukka White: Mississippi Blues, Vol 1.
C 1002: John Fahey / Blind Joe Death, Vol 1.
C 1003: John Fahey Vol 2. Death Chants, Breakdowns & Military Waltzes
C 1004: John Fahey Vol 2. Dance of Death & Other Plantation Favorites.
C 1005: Robbie Basho Vol 2. Seal of the Blue Lotus
C 1006: Contemporary Guitar Vol 1 - 1966 . John Fahey, Max Ochs, Harry Taussig, Robbie Basho.
C 1007: Robbie Basho Vol 2: The Grail & the Lotus
C 1008: John Fahey Vo14: The Great San Bernardino Birthday Party.
B 1009: J. B. Smith: Ever Since I Have Been a Man Full Grown

.Takoma Records, at your local superior store or $5 by mail: Box 2233, Berkeley, California 94703 zip.

Andy Beta: Looking for Blind Joe Death

2009-02-27T10:39:00.003Z

Earthly appetites: The brilliant and curious career of steel-string demigod John Fahey

What do you think about the Mormons?"

This abrupt religious inquiry came at me in the summer of 1999, in a warbling voice from one of my few then living musical idols, guitarist John Fahey. He was seated across from me in the corner of a red-walled room at a restaurant called Mars in Austin, Texas. I told him I despised their non-caffeination and conspiratorial placement across the street from my high school in Arizona. Fahey smiled from behind his woolly, dirty-white beard, before continuing on about Gandhi's status as a military hero in India, how flat In a Silent Way sounds, his tour of Japan, all the while imploring our waitress to bring another pitcher of iced tea his way.

Coming to prominence in the early '60s, at the dawn of folk's re-emergence and the rise of the hippie counterculture, John Fahey revolutionized steel-string guitar playing by wedding the fingerpicked blues of Mississippi John Hurt to the structuring principles of classical composers like Sibelius and Brahms to craft something wholly American. Or as a 1959 article (included in the recent Fonotone box set) noted: "[Fahey] never fully grasped the meaning of Heidegger's angst until he heard it expressed in its supreme articulation on a 78 rpm record by Blind Willie Johnson." Ignoring the segregation of high and low culture, Fahey found something endemic to both, creating a body of work that hangs in the halls of American genius somewhere between Coltrane and Whitman.

Fahey passed from this world some five years ago during a septuple bypass, so it's funny now that these nascent recordings he made as Blind Thomas for Fonotone, the 78 rpm label of collector Joe Bussard (think Steve Buscemi's Ghost World character times a thousand), have come back to light alongside Vanguard's release of I Am the Resurrection. A tribute album featuring indie luminaries (Sufjan Stevens, Devendra Banhart, M. Ward) pays reverent homage to the man. And why not? Fahey, aside from his astounding music, set an example with one of the earliest independent, artist-run record labels, Takoma. He released the debut albums of Leo Kottke and George Winston. Fahey also rediscovered Skip James, the malevolent Depression-era master, traversing a brutally segregated Mississippi to find him in a hospital bed; it strangely presaged Fahey's own rediscovery in a Salem, Oregon, men's center in 1994 by Spin's Byron Coley.

Soused and spiteful at shows, misunderstood by an audience wanting peace, love, and his old songs, Fahey loathed both his hippie followers and his imitators. Will Ackerman and the whole New Age neutering of Fahey's guitar style that cropped up in his wake were anathema to him; his true progeny were the tetchy alternative noisemakers, like Sonic Youth and Wilco. The tribute makes this clear, recasting his iconoclastic solo pieces with winsome arrangements from its participants. And yet reverence to the song was never his own agenda, as Fahey often disavowed his past discography outright.

Studying folklore at UCLA alongside Barry Hansen (a/k/a Dr. Demento), Fahey wrote his master's thesis on Delta demigod Charley Patton, only to immediately go against the grain of stodgy academia, record-collector scum, and object reverence. He never looked back. Doctoring loquacious, ludicrous liner notes for his self-released work that tempered his arrogant self-mythologizing with hilarious self-effacement, he mocked the academic bluster of scholars and revivalists. He renames his Fonotone patron "Joseph Buzzard," records as Blind Joe Death, or else espouses his work as "expert" Elijah P. Lovejoy. Noise guitarist and writer Alan Licht noted that Fahey "did as much to take folk out of the hands of squares as his music did," and he suffered lightly those that pined for the past.

Perhaps like I'm doing now, recalling when I spent a week with Fahey seven years ago in Austin. Most of the time, I was content to sit at the lunch table as he and fellow folklorist Dave Polachek bandied their theories about Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music box set, discussing the implications of Fahey's own Revenant label getting the rights to release the fourth volume of that hallowed compilation. "Americans hate foreigners!" Fahey proclaimed out loud in the Mexican restaurant. "That was what Smith was secretly telling us. Just look at how many people get offed in those first four songs." He would then dump another clutch of Sweet'N Low into his tea, left unstirred among the ice.

When not canvassing for classical records, we'd be back in his motel room. My awe quickly turned to mild mortification at Fahey's ability to ingest anything and everything: a block of cheddar cheese unwrapped and munched like a candy bar; cold, greasy okra from the previous night; a squished french fry on the bed, suddenly remembered and swallowed. Amid the detritus of crumpled yen and girls' addresses in Osaka, finger paintings rendered on photo album sheets, New Age CDs called Music for Brain Waves, we auditioned the early master tapes of volume four of the Harry Smith collection. Fahey mused about how it reflected the Depression despite the set's upbeat ending. He declared "Last Fair Deal Gone Down" the best Robert Johnson song, and said the Carter Family sounded like they were dead, a zombie chorus. He would sprawl across his bed, enrapt in the ancient sounds, his giant white belly puffed out. Slowly, a guttural moan would be loosed from his depths, a half-drone, half-growl that drowned out the tape.

Other times, he would play his mixes: collages of Nazi rallies, Balinese gamelan, and recent Chicago blues licks with their verses and choruses mischievously lopped off, rearranging their 12- bar logic. Whether it was blue plate specials, convenience store crap, or world music, all went into his maw. Such devouring and consumption was what Fahey did throughout his career. His repertoire mashed Hammerstein with Dvorak, Christian hymns as well as Hindi chants, Dock Boggs and Duke Ellington. Classic albums like Requia and Days Have Gone By feature the same sort of aural collages he was still spinning 30 years on, as if no time had elapsed. Dislocation isn't too odd of a sensation, as critic Nat Hentoff recognized: "[Fahey's] music keeps stirring up old memories and all kinds of new anticipations."

I saw four concerts of his that week, but I can't recall a single tune. What lingers is Fahey's desire to dig beneath the veneer of the blues, philosophy, industrial noise, classical music, past names and labels, so as to unearth the collective unconscious of the tragic human condition that courses underneath the music. Songs were gateways to more profound, sometimes more horrific, truths. As his rambling online exegesis reveals: "When I play, I very quickly put myself into a light hypnotic trance and compose while playing. . . . I would go so far as to say that I am playing emotions and expressing them in a coherent public language called music."

In his later years, Fahey eschewed the acoustic steel-string altogether; he didn't even own a guitar, pawning it to make his rent. Due to the effects of Epstein-Barr syndrome and diabetes, his immaculate style slowed. Gone were the ornate five-finger rolls of a one-man orchestra as instead he swamped his tone in delay and reverb, stirring up fuliginous, phantasmal lines that slowly accrued in the air. "There's something about guitars," he wrote in How Bluegrass Destroyed My Life, a 2000 collection of his tales, noting that the guitar "evokes past, mysterious, barely conscious sentiments both individual and universal." At these shows, everyone in the audience would be mesmerized, drawn in by that slow spiral of sound and transported elsewhere. It was like the tornado in The Wizard of Oz, with shards of recognized melodies suddenly separated and reconfigured in the space-time continuum, moving counterclockwise while unlocking the subconscious, spinning like swastikas do.

I think now of the very first time I saw John perform, under a starry sky a year before our meeting at Mars. His shades affixed in the twilight, he spun out a lugubrious though transcendental waterfall of sound. Staring up into the firmament, I was startled by a melodic line suddenly remembered amid Fahey's hypnotic whorl. It was "O Holy Night," a Christmas carol played on that hot July evening. Dislocated in time, it was all the more relevant, its unsung words echoing my own thought: "The stars are brightly shining."

ANDY BETA
January 2006

The Mystery of the Turtle II: was it withdrawn?

2009-02-12T10:15:00.013Z

One of the aspects of the Turtle saga that has supplied surprisingly fertile ground for research is the claim that the album was withdrawn early in its existence due to the cost of producing the wonderful but very lavish gatefold sleeve, which was then replaced by the fairly minimal single one. This is clearly incorrect, since the full gatefold remained available until circa 1977, but there may be an element of truth to it.

Adding to the mystery was this quote from Fahey in a 1969 interview with Melody Maker: "But there was one we had to withdraw because we were losing 30 cents on each one. It had photographs, a book, and a double cover. We didn't know how much it was going to cost but some of it was bad anyway." When I first saw that quote I assumed that Fahey was confused, since the only album that had been withdrawn so far as I was aware was the curious Early Sessions double LP. However, Fahey was astonishingly specific and was clearly referring to Turtle.

A further explanation became apparent recently however when I acquired a pressing of Turtle that dates from 1967, six months or more ahead of the album's release. It appears that no sleeve was printed up at that point, but here are the labels on the actual disc:

The most obvious thing worthy of comment here is that the track listings are exactly the same as those of the eventual sleeve, so no Bean Vine Blues #2, the Train is not 'little', and the question of whether the train 'could' or 'couldn't' isn't asked let alone answered. The record itself is the 11 track version, thus matching the information contained in the eventual sleeve's booklet.

This leaves one obvious conclusion, that the label listings on the 1968 release (specifically Bean Vine Blues #1 and #2) were deliberately intended to conceal the existence of the two different versions. Also the possibility (as yet unconfirmed)that the 'withdrawal' actually took place in 1967, well ahead of the album's eventual appearance.

Four Unique Fonotone LPs

2008-11-24T11:11:00.008Z

These are labels for four 12" Fonotone LPs, produced as a set and almost certainly entirely unique. Here's the original owner's account of how he obtained them:

"I wrote to Joe Bussard Jr. in the early 1980s, and I asked him if he still had the early John Fahey recordings for sale. He wrote back that yes, he was still offering them on cassette. I wrote again and told him I really would rather have records, and he wrote that he could make me a set of 78 rpm acetate singles. But I didn't want 7" records, and I certainly didn't want anything that played at 78 rpm! I asked him if he could cut me 12" LPs at 33, and he refused to do it. I waited a year or so, and I wrote him again. By then he had the "Guitar Solo's" LP acetate available, and I bought one. It sounded great, which made me want the other tracks on 12" LP even more, so I asked him again. He told me he'd never custom made 12" discs to order for anyone EVER, because cutting full LPs by hand was a lot of trouble. I wrote him back right away and told him that I'd pay him whatever he asked, but I had to have LPs. I think it was another year before we closed the deal, but finally we agreed on a price and he sent the four LPs. He enclosed a note with them that said, "I can't believe how difficult it was to make these, I will never do this again for any amount of money!"

So, are these discs unique?

Oh, I have no doubt that they are. I chose the songs that I wanted from his master list and the order I wanted them in, and he cut the acetates. He custom made these LPs for me and told me flat out that he would never do it again for anybody!"

The Fonotone catalog

2008-11-22T16:12:00.007Z

Pages from two Fonotone catalogs listing the Fahey material Joe Bussard had to offer at that point. Joe Bussard, as always at Fonotone, typed these with an elderly typewriter. The 10" and 12" Guitar Solo's - titles unknown are no longer available on the second list.

Upcoming

2008-11-04T15:05:00.003Z

I must apologise for my relative silence here over the Summer although I have certainly not been ignoring the blog, rather giving my time to research. As a consequence I should shortly be posting both Mystery of the Turtle II and Blind Joe Death Transfigured III - they will contain a lot of additional information, particularly the post related to VOTT. I also have a biography of Riverboat Ralph nearing completion.

Due to internet access problems I am not in a position to add further downloads at present. Hopefully this will be resolved soon and normal service will resume. In the meantime, thanks for bearing with me.

Death Chants: the 1967 recordings.

2008-06-19T08:19:00.013+01:00

When Fahey re-recorded his first two albums in 1967 it was because of dissatisfaction with various aspects of the recording quality with the earlier versions rather than any intention to release them in stereo, although the commercial realities of the record market meant that stereo mixes were made the following year.

One does not have to be a purist to recognise the inadequacies of the stereo versions with their absurdly exaggerated separation; on headphones they sound less like one exceptional guitar player than two decent ones engaged in some bizarre guitar playing equivalent of synchronised swimming. Possibly intentionally, they mock the audiophile pretensions of the record buyer only prepared to buy 'stereo'.

Those 1967 mono versions were of course withdrawn after scarcely a year, and have never been available since. Given that they sound so considerably superior to the stereo mixes, it is disappointing that Fantasy didn't elect to use the mono masters when they put out their CD reissue. It was not for nothing that those 1967 records had stickers boasting that they had been recorded in 'Magnificent Mono', so here are those 1967 mono recordings for Death Chants.

Note: The titles 'Spanish Dance' and 'Take a Look at That Baby' had their respective tunes swapped between the 1963 and 1967 releases. I have left the titles (and music) here as they appear on the record in the interests of historical truth; you can of course reverse the titles (and maybe the sequence) if you prefer. As with the later 1968 cover, the sleeve reverses the sides for the listings, and omits 'Take a Look at That Baby' entirely.

Mayne Smith

2008-06-13T11:32:00.002+01:00

Mayne Smith, who contributed banjo and kazoo at Fahey's Delta sessions in 1965, has a new CD about to be released - Places I've Been: a Songmaker's Retrospective.

To mark the event, he is appearing at the Freight & Salvage in Berkeley, Friday June 20th. I get quite a few visitors from the Bay area, and you may well want to get tickets for what looks like a good night.

Blind Joe Death Transfigured II: L Mayne Smith

2008-06-13T10:46:00.013+01:00

I like to think that one or two regular visitors here still have an interest in my Transfigured piece, even if it may appear to have stalled (it hasn’t, it just seems to have a mind of it’s own and keeps on growing). I have recently been in touch with Mayne Smith who of course played (as L Mayne Smith) at what are known as the ‘Delta’ sessions, and he has been very patient in answering all my questions. While his comments will obviously feed into my own analysis, I know that they will be of broader interest, so I’m posting them here largely ‘as is’.

Fahey and I and Barry Hansen, popularly known today as Doctor Demento to LA radio fans, used to hang out together occasionally. We were all students at the Folklore Center at UCLA.

Mark LeVine (on guitar) and I (on dobro) were part of a band we called, creatively, The Bluegrass Band, which also contained three members of the Dry City Scat Band, then recently dissolved. These others were Dick Hargreaves (bass), Richard Greene (fiddle, and soon to join Bill Monroe’s band) and David Lindley. This band performed once or twice at the Ashgrove in the summer of 1965; I have a photo of us on stage there. Then the band dissolved.

I do have vague memories of a recording session at Bob Riskin’s house. Bob was a person of some authority at McCabe’s Guitar shop in Santa Monica, and he had a cool place up in one of the canyons in the Santa Monica mountains --- it may have been Topanga. Riskin, I learned later, was the son of Fay Wray who played the pretty blonde befriended by the original King Kong. Bob also recorded a demo session for me around this time, playing a few of my own new compositions accompanied by Ry Cooder who was about 18 years old at the time. I may also mention that I had taken myself somewhat seriously as a banjo player (Seeger-style, then old-time two-finger and three-finger styles) before gravitating to the role of lead and tenor singer and flat-pick rhythm guitarist in the bluegrass pattern; In the year of 1965, my article “An Introduction to Bluegrass,” appeared in the Journal of American Folklore (vol. 78, 1965, 245-256) --- the first bona fide academic treatment of bluegrass music. The author credit was to L. Mayne Smith; my legal first name is Loyd, which I dropped entirely after I left academia a few years later.

Bob Riskin had a good reel-to-reel Ampex tape recorder (model 600?) that would record at 15 ips – a step or three up from my Wolensak. We played in a wide-open livingroom area with no acoustic padding or anything else to keep out dog-barking, etc. My mental image says it was dark outside. Although I knew that some tunes from the Riskin sessions were released on Fahey’s records, I don’t recall the specific music we played, except that I played the banjo with a flat pick in what I thought of as a simple early New Orleans style. I had forgotten about any use of kazoos, and that Mark LeVine was also involved.

I asked about Fahey’s description of the session in the Voice of the Turtle notes

There is some relation to my memories in what Fahey says about Topanga Canyon and Riskin. “Barrett Mansen” is clearly Barry Hansen. Barry identified himself to the world as a collector of obscure records – particularly 45 rpm rhythm and blues – and was emphatically not an entrepreneur or brewery owner. Mark’s interest in bluegrass does have a tinge of reality about it. The “lacy filigree” comment is wholly gratuitous, particularly in relation to the ultra-simple style I was playing on that session. LeVine and I, on the other hand, were deliberately studying how to play rhythmic back-up, and may deserve some credit for that.

I asked about the ‘Delta Haze Recording Company’, and any possible involvement of ED Denson

I have no memory of any talk about specific record labels. I don’t think I would remember if there had been any. I don’t think I knew that Fahey had anything to do with Ed Denson, and I’m not sure I knew anything of Denson at that time. Four or five years later, Mitch Greenhill and I were in a band called “Frontier,” which was managed for a while by Denson (who also, at the time, managed Country Joe and the Fish, and The Joy of Cooking); we were all centered about the SF Bay Area at that time.

After listening to ‘Texas and Pacific Blues’ and ‘Train’

The “Texas” cut is a blatant re-hash of the well-known blues, “Corrina, Corrina,” and if that’s me on lead kazoo, I hear nothing original in it. That does sound like me on the banjo, pretty much in the style I remember playing, at John’s request.

On learning that he had been given a composer credit for ‘Beautiful Linda Getchell’:

If I deserve any composer credit for “Getchell” I don’t remember the tune or my contribution to it.

After hearing "Getchell" and "Come Back Baby"

“Linda Getchall” immediately struck me as a variant of the fingerpicked waltz I knew as “Spanish Fandango.” The flat-picked banjo was probably me; it would have been easy for me to do, since I was thoroughly familiar with the tune. Incidentally, the banjo has a suspended-4th figure in it that reminds me that Fahey and I, on opposite sides of the USA, shared exposure to the hymnody of the Episcopal church, which is quite evident in his improvisations.

“Come Back Baby” has a similar rhythm banjo sound, so it may have been me. On the other hand, the single-string work up the neck is so good I have some doubts that it was me. But I may have been better back then than I recall, so if Fahey credited me I’ll take his word for it. The melody and modality of this blues tune was also familiar to me at the time. (“ . . . let’s talk it over one more time.”)

Obviously, my thanks to Mayne for patiently answering all my questions; this provides another picture of a session that still arouses a lot of interest. I was amused to see that barking dogs had obviously left some sort of impression even after all these years, since Mayne had never heard 'Transfiguration' so wouldn't have known about the dog's cameo on the record .

Voice of the Turtle: the earliest pressings

2008-05-31T10:10:00.010+01:00

Since it settles quite a few debates, here are pictures of the original 1968 black & silver labelled copies of Voice of the Turtle; these show that both the eleven and twelve track pressings existed from the off. Neither of these is easy to find, although I suspect that serious collectors will want both.

Original 11 track pressing, side 1 has 5 tracks:

Original 12 track pressing, side 1 has 6 tracks:

For more discussion of the complex history of this album, or to add any comment, please see my earlier post, The Mystery of the Turtle. These pictures have been included in that post; I've put them here as well to highlight the update.

Please add any comment to the 'Mystery of the Turtle' post, rather than here.

Takoma Records 1968 Catalog

2008-05-29T12:57:00.005+01:00

This catalogue was routinely packaged in with albums for a while. It is worth noting that the One String Blues album (shown as B1020) was not actually available when this catalogue was published; it eventually appeared as B1023. With the exception of the Phil Yost album, none of those listed as 'in preparation' ever made it to release.

Three Day Band

2008-05-18T10:34:00.006+01:00

It's not too often that CDs get mentioned here (other than to complain that Fantasy could have done better) but sometimes needs must, as it were.

Last year the Newburyport MA based indie Important Records re-released The Mill Pond as a limited edition CD. They still have it (as do the big online retailers) but those among you who collect Fahey's CDs may not be aware that it comes in two different sleeves - one white board, and one brown chipboard. It's well presented, with a booklet of John's paintings, and if it passed you by you should seek it out before it's gone. If you order directly from Important, you can specify which sleeve you prefer, or there's a $1.98 discount if you order both.

Now they've followed that up by releasing Three Day Band, a collaboration between Fahey and Ayal Senior recorded in John's hotel room in 1999. There are a couple of improvised music pieces, and 15 recordings of John reading excerpts from his writings. They've got some lengthy mp3s up, so you'll know what you're letting yourself in for - I think it's enjoyable, not just one for the completists.

If you'd far rather look at pictures of cats than even contemplate ownership of a CD (there'll be some, I know) they have a rather nice cat page .

New labels

2008-05-16T11:12:00.012+01:00

Once again this is here to flag up some additions to long-standing posts. Glenn Jones has very kindly photographed some of his rarest Fahey records, in particular the original 1959 Blind Joe Death and the limited edition of Transfiguration (shown above to catch your attention).

You can see all the new labels by clicking on the Record Labels link in the sidebar, then scrolling down the page.

My thanks to Glenn who has put in a lot of work on this. He's sent me more, and I'll be getting that posted in due course.

Please add any comment on the labels to the original posts, rather than here.

The Bastrop Waltz

2008-05-08T15:42:00.004+01:00

Another terrific recording, probably left over from sessions that contributed to The Voice of the Turtle. Considerably longer than the recording mentioned on the Fahey Files, and with the usual thanks to the provider, here is The Bastrop Waltz.

The Eye of the Turtle

2008-05-06T14:43:00.026+01:00

It has long been said that there were two different eye variations for the turtle that presides over the front cover of Voice of the Turtle. After I had an email from Glenn Jones confirming their existence, I thought I'd better check my own copies with a magnifying glass, and yes, there are indeed two versions. All the early sleeves (at least until circa 1974), the ones that have the outer pasted wrap-round, have a plain pupil. However, when the sleeve switched to the later and more standard construction, printed to a higher standard off new plates, cross-hatching substitutes for the colour of the earlier ones . I've seen it suggested that there is more than one variant of hatched eye; however the two examples of cross-hatched eyes I show here (from the two batches of the last gatefold sleeves manufactured) appear different only in that the printing plate has been more heavily inked in the earlier than the later example, so ink has flowed into the hatching at some points. I suspect that the hatching was added by the person who made up the new printing plates for the later sleeves, possibly to cover up a flaw or error in the photo-etching, but probably damage to the original artwork. Further plates were made up when the switch was made to the single sleeve around 1977; this added a second turtle (copied from the first but slightly smaller) to the bottom right-hand corner of the sleeve, replacing the promise of a book within. The hatching in the eye remained although it is difficult to tell whether it is the same, given the considerable difference in print quality. The smaller of the two turtles has clearly had its eye reworked, probably because the hatching wouldn't reduce easily (the pictures below are shown in scale to show the relative size of the smaller turtle).

As always, click to enlarge the pictures.

Early eye 1968-Circa 1974, 3rd sleeve, original plates:

Later eye, Circa 1975-1977, 1st printing, second plates:

Later eye, Circa 1975-1977, 2nd printing, second plates:

Last eye, main turtle, Single sleeve, Circa 1977

Eye of second turtle, Single sleeve, Circa 1977

For more details on the various sleeves for this album, or to add any comment, please see my earlier post, The Mystery of the Turtle. This new information has been included in that post too; I've put it here as well to highlight the update. If you own another variation, get in touch.

Please add any comment to the 'Mystery of the Turtle' post, rather than here.

The Roots of John Fahey

2008-05-01T05:45:00.004+01:00

In my 'to do' box, as it were, has been the intention to start uploading the original source material that Fahey drew from and used to shape his own music; I had very kindly been sent a copy of the wonderful VrootzBox and had found that a lot of the material on it opened up Fahey's work more than I anticipated. I had got as far as ripping an initial selection of recordings, but now I find that I have been beaten to it by the Irate Pirate over on Wrath of the Grapevine, who has produced his own 5 CD selection of material (plus a bonus disc). He's put a lot of time and effort into a very substantial project, and it's well worth taking advantage of all his work.

Here's the link to the Pirate's specific post - The Roots of John Fahey

Dick Waterman's wonderful photo is of JF with Son House; I've appropriated it from the Irate Pirate but only to catch your attention!

Vol. 6 Days Have Gone By

2008-04-28T13:41:00.016+01:00

The original 1967 release:

Second sleeve, probably 1968:

Final sleeve, probably circa 1976:

This album has four sleeves that I know of. The first three have a simple paste-around over a black cover, the final sleeve is of standard manufacture.

The earliest sleeve credits Chester Burnett as the photographer for the front cover, and has Takoma's Box 2233 address in Berkeley. The colour of the front cover has an orange tinge to the brown.

The second sleeve appears to have replaced the first quite quickly. The colour is now a far darker brown, with no hint of orange whatever. The photographer is now correctly credited as Jeff Lovelace. The Berkeley address remains, with the addition of the zip code 94711.

The third sleeve removes the address, and the brown reacquires its orange tinge. I hope to be able to add photos for this variant very shortly.

The final sleeve, of conventional construction, obviously lacks the black border of the earlier ones, instead the yellow area extends round the edge. The brown is now quite distinctly orange.

To help with colour comparisons between the sleeves, here is a photo of the three sleeves photographed above shown together; the oldest sleeve is on the right just to add a touch of confusion.

Original 1967 booklet, inside back cover:

Second edition 1968, inside back cover:

Note the wonderful Pre-Raphaelite styled 'T' graphic in the original 1967 booklet, Tom Weller's first tentative design for a Takoma logo. The booklet was changed in 1968, updating the discography inside the back cover and using the newly introduced Takoma logo. The 1967 booklet is printed on paper with a more pronounced beige colour than the later one, although the paper for the later one is clearly of poorer quality and has faded despite being stored inside the record sleeve.

'The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death'

2008-04-22T14:58:00.030+01:00

The 1967 Riverboat release:

The second Riverboat sleeve, circa 1970:

The final Riverboat sleeve, circa 1972:

The 1973 Takoma re-issue:

The 1980 Chrysalis re-issue:

Prior to the commercial release of this album, Riverboat pressed a limited edition of fifty numbered copies. These simply came in a plain white sleeve. Copy #1 was sent out as a promotional copy, and here is the card that accompanied it:

Riverboat's 1966 sleeve names the company as 'Riverboat Records', shows their address as 12 Noyes Place, Boston, Mass 02113, and quotes a price of $5.00. The second marks the company's relocation to Cambridge around 1970; the rear paste-over now shows the address as 141 Columbia Street, Cambridge, Mass 02139 and the price remains at $5.00; the front of the sleeve is unaltered. Incidentally, the remaining stock with the Boston address were cleared as cut-outs, which is why they are sometimes found with a corner missing. The final sleeve names the company as 'Riverboat Enterprises', uses a different steamboat logo, and abandons the $5.00 price. Takoma inherited the bulk of these on acquiring the 'Transfiguration' rights in 1973 and continued to use them for some time before bringing in their own variant (dated as 1973 above, but probably not actually in use until 1975). Here are enlargements of the two Riverboat logos:

The original Riverboat graphic:

The later Riverboat graphic (circa 1972):

An unusual back cover for the first Takoma sleeve is shown above, with no credits. The one here has subsequently been signed by John. I do not know how many were printed like this.

Use of the Chrysalis era sleeve carried over to the Allegiance release, and I have not yet seen an Allegiance sleeve

Original 1965 booklet, back page:

Second edition, 1970, back page:

It is interesting to see from the card that accompanied the pre-release edition of 'Transfiguration' that although the subsequent sleeve was not yet ready, the booklet was (I'm presuming that they didn't come with hand-written ones). Early booklets appear to have been printed 'in-house' and are much more attractive than later ones, using an ivory coloured paper and a less harsh black ink. Later booklets are on whiter, and finally white paper, with hard black lettering, suggesting fairly cheap lithography. The printing quality of the later booklets is variable, and some have unwanted black ink stripes across the pages (like those from misfiring photocopiers).

I have posted pictures of the backs of the booklets because this is where one is able to determine definitively whether a booklet is an early one; in the bottom right-hand corner are the printer's details:

12 Noyes Place was of course the address of Riverboat Enterprises at that point. Following the move to Cambridge, the printing credit was removed. These later booklets were printed in very considerable quantities, and Takoma inherited sufficient to be able to use them until the end. Even then there was a significant quantity remaining, and Fantasy were happy to post them out to owners of the CD. This very generous supply of booklets means that many early Riverboat records have subsequently acquired booklets that date from later. I can say with considerable certainty that all those first albums that show Noyes Place as the Riverboat address have the Gringo Press credit on the back of the booklet; this means that comparisons of paper colour are thankfully unnecessary given that paper tends to discolour with age anyway.

The Early Sessions

2008-04-22T08:49:00.007+01:00

A plea for help! I am seeking information on Fahey's Takoma album 'The Early Sessions'. If you own or have ever owned a copy of this rare record, please could you email me via the link on the right. Many thanks.

Fahey Live 1972

2008-04-20T10:08:00.004+01:00

This is material that has been around on bootleg for some time, and is credited as having been recorded in 1968 at the Worcester MA Polytechnic in 1968.

That date at least is wrong; Fahey talks (in slightly less than glowing terms) about Vanguard; he has signed with WEA in order to record 'Of Rivers & Religion', so it must be 1972. Fahey believes it is going to come out on Elektra, but of course it was finally assigned to Reprise. There's a lengthy 'Voice of the Turtle', and two medleys. The sound quality is somewhat variable but entirely listenable; John's repartee is entertaining as always.

Get the download here.

Thanks to ejg who gave me this.

More 'Voice of the Turtle' and 'Dance of Death' outtakes

2008-04-09T11:53:00.005+01:00

Finally, some more unreleased material. It's in zipped folders, so it won't require nearly as many downloads as normal.

From 'Turtle', there's 'A Raga called Pat Part III' with no sound effects, then a recording believed to be 'A Raga called Pat Part V'. Finally, an alternative recording of 'The Story of Dorothy Gooch'
Download the file here.

From the 1964 Adelphi sessions that produced the 'Dance of Death' album , a collection of short recordings, often incomplete - Be present at this table Lord, C Tuning parts 1 and 2, Camptown races takes 1 2 and 3, intro to Portland Cement Factory, Last thing # 1, Revelation take 1, a fragment of Sevastopol, and Steel guitar rag take 1.
Download the file here.

Paul Bryant: Blind Joe Death. The different editions of Volume 1

2008-04-07T16:35:00.005+01:00

I am very grateful to Paul Bryant for letting me have this analysis of the various editions of the Blind Joe Death album.

BLIND JOE DEATH EDITIONS

NV = new version1959.........1964.........1967
(1996 CD)

On Doing an Evil Deed Blues 4.37……..NV 5.07 (1964)……..NV 3.56 (1967)

St Louis Blues 5.29…………………… edited to 4.56 (1964)……NV 3.15 (1967)

Poor Boy Long Ways from Home 3.12…….………………………NV 2.23 (1967)

Uncloudy Day 3.12 ……………………....………………………………..NV 2.22 (1967)

John Henry 3.20 ……………………….....………………………….……. NV 2.05 (1967)

In Christ there Is No East or West 2.37…NV 2.21 (1964)…NV 6.30 (1967)

The Transcendental Waterfall 6.34……NV 10.35(1964)……NV 6.30(1967)
(CD has 1964 version only)

Desperate Man Blues 4.04…………………………………………….NV 3.58 (1967)

Sun Gonna Shine in my Backdoor &c 3.32……………..………. NV 4.36 (1967)

Sligo River Blues 3.05………………………………………………….. NV 2.23 (1967)

West Coast Blues 3.12………………………Omitted (1964)…… Omitted(1967)
(CD has 1964 outtake)

I'm Gonna do all I Can for my Lord - 1967 only

Notes:It seems strange to have included the incongruous 1964 outtake of "West Coast Blues" on "Legend" - copies of the first edition were readily available.

INCORRECT STATEMENTS
See Legend Notes p6 : on the reproduced back cover of BJD II it clearly states that 4 songs were rerecorded in April 1964: On Doing an Evil Deed Blues, The Transcendental Waterfall, In Christ there is no East or West, and Uncloudy Day. This is untrue - Uncloudy Day was not rerecorded. (Legend Notes confirms this.) Legend Notes incorrectly state that the cover lists 5 rerecordings, adding Desperate Man Blues. That song was also not rerecorded.

Legend Notes also say "the recording of The Transcendental Waterfall used on BJD III was the one recorded for BJD II with about 4 minutes lopped off". This is untrue, TW was rerecorded in 1967. That rerecording is omitted from Legend.

Legend Notes say "what of the six missing tracks from BJD I?" In fact there are four - In Christ, Evil Deed and Waterfall, which Fahey rerecorded, and West Coast Blues, which wasn't reissued at all. The full take of St Louis Blues is presumably being counted as the fifth and Glenn's misplaced conviction that Desperate Man Blues was rerecorded makes up the six.

John Fahey: official Takoma 1972 biography by Barry Hansen

2008-03-04T14:43:00.004Z

I am very grateful to Vincent Smith, who has spent some time scanning copies of two US Takoma catalogues, a selection of UK press clippings, and particularly this 'official' biography written by Barry Hansen for Takoma in 1972. As with the other posts from Vincent's archive, all these images can be enlarged by clicking on them.

UK Press Articles and Reviews

2008-03-04T14:39:00.008Z

Some articles from Vincent Smith's archive, mainly drawn from the 'Melody Maker', from the late 60s - early 70s (click to enlarge the images)

Light at the end of the tunnel maybe? The 1969 Melody Maker article on Fahey 'Syncopated Classics...' quotes him as saying of his Takoma albums "But there was one we had to withdraw because we were losing 30 cents on each one. It had photographs, a book, and a double cover. We didn't know how much it was going to cost but some of it was bad anyway". He's clearly talking about 'Voice of the Turtle', and this interview, which I had long since forgotten until Vincent sent it in, may be the source of the entire myth, but Fahey himself is confused. The album Takoma withdrew because it was making a loss was not 'Turtle' but 'The Early Sessions' (Takoma C-1000). Putting out the bulk of the '63 and '64 recordings from Volumes 1 & 2 as a double album at a single album price was not the best of ideas anyway, as most buyers would regard them as a better value alternative to either the '67 'magnificent mono' recordings, or the subsequent stereo versions. The '67 releases were not a great success either, and that no doubt lay behind the decision to repackage and stereo mix those recordings before too long had passed.

Takoma Records 1969 Catalog

2008-03-04T14:36:00.005Z

Takoma Records 1973 Catalog

2008-03-04T13:43:00.002Z

The Television Song

2008-03-03T12:17:00.003Z

'The Television Song, aka TV Rag' is an outtake from the Adelphi sessions that produced the 'Dance of Death' album. Fahey taught the tune to Ragtime Ralph (Ralph C Johnson): "John taught me a song that appeared on "Ragtime Ralph Volume Four", my only 12 inch vinyl...the song was "Ragtime Piece In G" which Fahey had originally called "Television In a Garden Rag" and had apparently been released on some weird ep in Finland I believe..."

Television download

Thanks as always to the donor for this; it's good.

The recordings that could have been on 'Voice of the Turtle'

2008-02-17T13:14:00.004Z

The IFC have included the Engineer's Notes for this record on the John Fahey site. They show that there were numerous other recordings that were considered for use on the record. I will be posting them here as I am able to get them, but here are the first four: ....Lo How A Rose .... Kuolema .... Leaving Home .... Texas & Pacific Blues

Top Gear

2008-02-13T10:32:00.004Z

Those of a certain age who lived in the south-eastern corner of England in the mid-60s will remember the pirate broadcaster 'Radio London' with it's late night programme 'The Perfumed Garden'. The DJ John Peel was the first champion of John Fahey over here, and when he migrated to the new BBC Radio 1 he presented 'Top Gear', where he was able not only to play his own impeccable choice of music, but to have studio sessions with guests.

In 1969 Fahey did a short tour of the UK and appeared on 'Top Gear'. And now I'm able to post the material from that session here as downloads; 'Death of the Clayton Peacock' in particular is a wonderful performance. So here, with thanks to a regular visitor who provided these recordings, are: Bucktown Stomp, The Death of the Clayton Peacock, In Christ the is no East or West, Steel Guitar Rag and Sunflower River Blues.

Blind Joe Death Transfigured.

2008-02-11T21:47:00.010Z

Like I did with my earlier post on VOTT, I'm putting this up despite it being very much an unfinished work-in-progress. It'll be considerably expanded and hopefully I'll bring some semblance of coherence and completion over the next few days (make that 'months'!), when I'll enable comment. If it interests you, I hope you'll come back later to catch the full post.

Unless you've started worrying which, if any, of his records John Fahey actually played on, the second big mystery in his canon is 'Transfiguration'. In particular, why exactly did it come out on an unheard-of Boston record label as it did? Well, it's somewhat like 'Turtle' in that there's an established orthodoxy that is correct only in parts. The consensus runs something like this: John Fahey recorded for a mysterious company called Delta. ED Denson stole the tapes from those sessions and sold them to a mysterious Ralph Riverboat; he then released them as 'The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death' on a mysterious and utterly obscure record label called Riverboat. It came out in 1965, ahead of 'Guitar Volume 4', which was released the following year. And in 1968, Takoma re-released 'Transfiguration', numbering it Volume 5.

From that, there is one certain fact. that 'Volume 4' came out on Takoma in 1966. But there are two definite falsehoods. Takoma did not re-release 'Transfiguration' in 1968, nor did they designate it Volume 5. In fact Takoma did not reissue 'Transfiguration' until 1973, a date that is clearly displayed on the label of their release (see my label entry for 'Transfiguration'). And it would have been pretty pointless them pronouncing it Volume 5, given that Riverboat Records had already done that with the original issue. In between, there's a lot of mythology, and very little that can be stated as absolute fact. There's one person who knows of course, and that's Mr. Denson, but he's unlikely to be telling as he knows how Fahey intended and enjoyed such confusions; and if he did say you wouldn't really know if he was giving you the truth anyway, because he played the same games.

'Transfiguration' came out on Riverboat in an initial subscription edition of 50 copies, probably in late January 1966, with the commercial issue following a little while later; the ED Denson review posted elsewhere here was published in late February, early March that year, which dates it pretty accurately.

It's almost impossible to conceive of how the notion came about that 'Transfiguration' only became Volume 5 when Takoma acquired it from Riverboat, let alone how it gained such currency since. Images of the 'Riverboat' sleeve are so easily available,with most reproductions showing the back as well as the front (Stefan Wirtz for example has it on his Takoma discography). But just in case there's any doubt I'm putting up a photo here:

And then there's the question of that 1968 reissue, the one that didn't actually happen. I am at least able to see a possible explanation for this one, and that is that Transatlantic Records released the record in Europe in 1968. Maybe that release credited copyright to Takoma, and given the Eurocentric dominance in the field of 'Fahey studies' that is how 1968 was seized on as the critical date. And 1968 is certainly one powerful snake oil. Fantasy's CD release has notes by Sam Charters in the accompanying booklet which are clearly dated to 1968 and have an explanatory note appended: that 'ED Denson (Takoma's co-owner) asked Sam Charters to write the notes for the reissue of 'The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death' when the master was reacquired from Riverboat, however these notes never appeared in the reissue'. All this makes a lot of sense and adds evidential weight to that 1968 date. Because in 1968 ED Denson was indeed still a co-owner of Takoma records. And in 1968 Sam Charters was closely involved with Fahey and Denson through his involvement with Vanguard Records (he's listed as producer and executive producer for the two albums Fahey recorded for Vanguard, and was producer for Country Joe & the Fish, who were also managed by Denson and on Vanguard). It all starts to fall apart however when you read the notes that Sam Charters actually wrote. He talks not only about JF's spell at Vanguard, but his time with Warner Brothers, where he "had the resources to work with an instrumental group, but to everyone's surprise he used traditional jazz musicians... Since then he has returned to Takoma, and there have been new recordings". Sam then goes on to say (somewhat erroneously) that most of the recordings used on 'Transfiguration' come "from close to the end of the Sixties".

Even the IFC are infected with this 1968-mania. In their site section on 'Transfiguration' in the Fahey Files they offer the reissue notes. They still credit Sam Charters' notes as being written for a 1968 reissue, working their way round his apparent clairvoyance by offering only excerpts and omitting all the awkward bits. And in their own Notes on the Songs they repeat the 1968 reissue date and quote from "the original Transfiguration sleevenote". After an extensive quote they add "This account is from 1968..." but by now they've definitely got themselves into something of a muddle. The account is indeed from 1968, but that is because it is actually the 'Turtle' sleevenotes they're quoting. And there are obvious dangers in taking 'Transfiguration's wonderfully surreal notes at face value too readily anyway.

Even when Takoma reissued 'Transfiguration' in 1973, they allocated it an 'R' series number and, other than for the label on the actual vinyl, it continued to be sold as a Riverboat record. They finally packaged it as Takoma around 1976, and that is almost certainly when Sam Charters wrote his reissue notes (which indeed weren't used but are unlikely to have been solicited by ED Denson who had relinquished his business interest in Fahey and Takoma several years before).

Unintended humour?

2008-02-11T17:44:00.000Z

"Choosing a song was not easy - he has a million incredible songs that i would love to take the time, sit down and try to learn someday - maybe I chose bean vine blues #2 cuz it stands out so much...in my opinion its probably the only song of faheys that ive ever heard with a blatant sense of humor -- maybe at the time of choosing I was in need of some levity?"

M. Ward posts on Myspace, explaining why he picked 'Bean Vines Blues #2' as his contribution to the Fahey tribute 'I am the Resurrection'.

The Mystery of the Turtle

2008-02-06T21:50:00.017Z

The conventional wisdom regarding this album is this: that it was originally released with an orange label in a gatefold sleeve with a book. After a year or so Takoma worked out that it was costing more to produce than they were able to wholesale it, so they reissued it in a single sleeve, and at that point they changed the record itself, with several different tracks (some new, some changed), and gave it a black label. That view was most recently expressed by Kris Needs in his (distinctly muddled and rather error prone) piece in Record Collector last year. I suspect that he largely copied and pasted that particular bit of his article from the IFC site, but they were by no means the first to espouse that chronology.

In one respect it is of course entirely correct. Voice of the Turtle was released in two different pressings, containing a significant amount of different material, some of which didn't feature Fahey at all, but derived from historic 78s. But it is definitely not true that Takoma quickly switched to a single sleeve because they were losing money; the gatefold sleeve with the book was repeatedly remanufactured, and was to my definite knowledge still being used in 1977, with what was then a fairly recent reprinting. I would guess that the single sleeve appeared around 1978, by which time sales of the record were probably slowing to a trickle; and Takoma were no different from the major labels in deciding to abandon a gatefold at that stage of a record's continuing presence in their catalogue.

For those who're interested, the broad sequence of gatefold sleeves for Turtle is this: the earliest sleeves have a pasted on outer, the book was unattached (if you got one at all, a lot of those first records simply didn't contain one), and the underlying sleeve to which the outer was pasted was a very clean white. The second batch of sleeves were the same, but the book was now glued in, as it would be for all subsequent gatefolds. Then the base sleeve became an off-white which tended towards being ivory, with the outer continuing to be pasted on. This remained in use well beyond 1973 and was reprinted at least twice as the first of the reprintings can be easily identified by a black strip about 1/4" wide running down the right edge of the front sleeve; the sleeves had been assembled to a different size than they had been printed, and the black strip was where the inside of the front flap found itself folded forward as a result of this. Sometime after 1974, the sleeve was changed to the more conventional gatefold assembly where it was the inside of the sleeve, rather than the outside, that was pasted on. These sleeves were more expensive to manufacture than the earlier ones. The sleeves have stronger and slightly different colours to the preceding variants; a better printing process was used (enlarge the photo below to see this). This last gatefold was still printed at least twice, with the second run being made of a slightly lighter card than the first.

This photo shows the three major variant gatefold sleeves (just click to enlarge). The one at the back is an original 1968 first issue with no glued book; hopefully you'll be able to see how the inside of the sleeve folds forward and makes a seam which is then covered by the outer paste-over. The edge beyond that pasted sheet remains very clearly white. The second sleeve is circa 1973; despite the staining at the corner you should be able to see the change in the underlying colour, and this particular sleeve is from the run that had the black strip at the right-hand edge. The front sleeve is from 1977 and is as new. You will see the very different print quality as against the two earlier sleeves, and the lack of any outer pasting.

When the sleeve construction was changed around 1975, new printing plates were made. These gave the turtle a different eye, cross-hatching had been added to the pupil. It is likely that this was done to cover up either a problem with the etching for the new plates, or damage to the original artwork. It is also of course possible that it was a deliberate artistic decision, but I would have thought that somewhat less likely (Tom Weller would know definitively, I guess). Further plates were made for the single sleeve which added a second turtle, copied from the first (although slightly smaller) in place of the promise of a book within in the bottom right-hand corner. The cross-hatching remained, with the second turtle appearing to have dots.

Early eye 1968-Circa 1974,original plates for outer paste round:

Later eye, Circa 1975-1977, second plates for printing directly to cover:

Final eyes, Single sleeve, Circa 1977:

There was clearly increased manufacturing costs involved with all this (wonderful) packaging, but Turtle was a good seller despite the content of the record itself being less obviously commercial that some of Fahey's earlier work. I would imagine that the very unusual sleeve tempted many who might otherwise have hesitated before purchasing. And Takoma repeated the exotic packaging in 1971 when they released 'America'.

The single sleeve appeared absolutely at the end of the life of this album; there is no correlation whatever between the switch to the single sleeve and any change to either the record or the design or colour of it's label. Most single sleeves ended up being offered as cut-outs in the run-up to Takoma's sale to Chrysalis. Because of the small numbers made, the single sleeve normally fetches as much or more than a good gatefold with the book still intact, even when it has the corner very visibly cut off; uncut examples are very sought after.

Then there’s the question of the label, and at this point I’ll simply point out that VOTT was originally issued with a black label (plain black & silver); the orange label followed, and finally at least two different designs of black & gold dragons. So talking about orange and black labels can be rather confusing. It is far more straightforward to talk about 11 and 12 track pressings, that is the number of tracks actually on the vinyl, not the label or sleeve. All labels show 12 tracks, and all sleeves show 11 tracks, regardless of the pressing. As to the differences in content, I can do no better than refer you to the substantial IFC piece on VOTT (and Malcolm Kitson's further elucidation as a comment to my earlier post on this album). The pressing the IFC refer to as the OLV is the 11 track version, and the BLV is the 12 track. There is one caveat to what they say: ‘Bottleneck Blues’ is different between the two pressings only in that stanza 2 of the guitar piece is edited out of the 11 track version. So Fahey either plays along on both versions or on neither. The answer appears to be the latter, and I understand that the IFC will at some point be editing their article to reflect that.

So what happened and why? It is in the end a matter of speculation as to why, but what happened can in part be established as fact. I’m going to start with the matrices for this record; not only are they clearly written in the same hand, but they are unusually shallow, almost to the point of illegibility, which is very unusual. The armrest must have been set very high indeed for the mastering engineer when writing them, and it is so unusual that I have no doubt whatever that they were done at the same mastering session. Incidentally, the same handwriting can be seen on the master for ‘The New Possibility’ from later the same year (the only other Fahey record to have it), but it is at an entirely conventional depth. If one accepts that they were indeed mastered at the same time, that entirely rules out any theory that any sort of accident was involved; rather that it was an entirely deliberate decision. This was always likely to have been the case anyway, as remastering a record with different content is not something that could be done casually regardless of when it was done; it would have been very much easier to change the label to match the record, particularly at the point where there was a design change..

Giving the sleeve an 11 track listing while having 12 shown on the label (with the extra track being listed as a #2) neatly covered both options, and lends considerable further weight to my conviction that they knew what they were doing from the outset. It also achieved a very effective concealment of the existence of the two pressings.

And is it true that the 11 track version appears on all early pressings before being replaced by the 12 track? Actually, no. The original issue with the plain black & silver label certainly came in both varients, apparently in a fairly equal distribution. Here are photos showing the first side of each:

Original 11 track pressing, side 1 has 5 tracks:

Original 12 track pressing, side 1 has 6 tracks:

Both the subsequent orange labelled pressing and the earliest dragon labelled pressing can also be found in both versions, although there can have been very few 11 track dragon labelled copies; I have never seen another other than my own. It is unlikely that any 11 track pressings were manufactured much beyond 1972. If you have a later 11 track pressing, get in touch.

Incidentally, most copies of VOTT (probably more than 19 in 20) are found with the last outer paste round gatefold sleeve with a book glued in, containing the 12 track record with the 1972 black & gold dragon label.

So why? I think that it was intended to have both pressings in circulation from day one, but that the pressing plant, who would have been holding the metal masters, didn’t rotate them as often as planned when repressing.

And why use other artists’ recordings? I think that it was an extension of Fahey’s conceit that his audience wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between his own playing and that of the historic blues players he drew a lot of his early stylistic inspiration from. Everyone knew by the time VOTT came out that Blind Joe Death was a fiction; but it was a particular tease to imply that John overdubbed an accompaniment to his own playing on 'Bottleneck Blues' when he wasn’t actually playing on it at all.

Identity games are a particular enthusiasm within the Fahey canon. The article posted here where John apparently encouraged Charlie Schmidt to re-record Volume 3 for Shanachie, with the work passed off as his own, brought to mind a rumour that briefly did the rounds in the late 60s; that it was not Fahey playing on the ’67 re-recordings of Volumes 1 & 2 either, but rather a young and flash Leo Kottke showing just how good he was. I dismissed it out of hand then, but now…

Mono vs. Stereo: The 1960s Takoma albums.

2008-02-02T21:16:00.005Z

There is quite a bit of confusion over which of the early Fahey albums were released in stereo, so I hope that this will clarify things.

The 1963 release of 'Death Chants', the 1964 release of 'Blind Joe Death', and the 1965 recording of 'Dance of Death' were all mono recordings. In 1966 Takoma released 'Guitar: Volume 4' and, despite the widespread belief that this was available in both mono and stereo versions, this was never so. Some later pressings of this record said 'stereo' on the record label, but the sleeve never made any such claim, and the record continued to be pressed from the same mono master. The following year, exactly the same happened with 'Days Have Gone By'.

In 1967 John decided to re-record his first two albums in order (it is said) to issue them in stereo. However that is unlikely to have been his main purpose, as when they were released, they were still mono, and carried stickers assuring purchasers that they were 'NEWLY RECORDED in MAGNIFICENT MONO!'. Those two albums appeared with matching Tom Weller designed sleeves, dominated by 'psychedelic' lettering, and 'Dance of Death' was reissued in a matching cover, but remained the original 1965 recording.

John then recorded Requia for Vanguard, and that and the subsequent Yellow Princess were both true stereo releases.

In 1968 'Voice of the Turtle' was released, claiming on both the sleeve and the label to be stereo, but it certainly wasn't. Most of the tracks on the album were old recordings, and therefore of necessity mono, but so was the new material. Then, at the end of 1968 'The New Possibility' appeared, and this was the first Fahey album to be released on Takoma that was actually in stereo.

It was eventually decided to reissue the 1967 recordings of the first two albums in stereo, and the tapes were given a stereo mixdown. Tom Weller designed new sleeves for the first three albums with the well-known woodcut designs, and was aware that it would only be the first two volumes that would be stereo since they were clearly labelled as such on the front of the sleeves where volume three wasn't. However the rear paste-ons for the three sleeves were not so carefully designed (scarcely designed at all in fact), and they were all given a 'stereo' labelling. They must have been prepared well ahead of the eventual release dates, because they tell the purchaser that 'Voice of the Turtle' will be released in June; by the time the stereo pressings appeared that date was long gone. They were eventually released (probably in 1969), the labels were identical to that of the earlier monaural versions with the 1968 black and silver label design which made no claim as to whether the record was mono or stereo. Takoma almost immediate moved on to the orange label, both those labels for the first two (stereo) albums prominently claimed to be 'monaural'.

By the time Takoma issued those first two volumes in stereo, the Swedish label Sonet, who had acquired the European release rights to Takoma, had already put out Volumes 1 and 2 in a very strange 'stereo' (and strange sleeves too!). It is very doubtful that Takoma had allowed them access to anything other than the mono tapes, and presumably they were electronically 'enhanced'. Takoma themselves never released any processed stereo versions, and 'Dance of Death', 'Guitar: Volume 4', 'Days Have Gone By' and 'Voice of the Turtle' were only ever pressed from the original mono masters, despite later pressings invariably being labelled as stereo.

The Labels - Designs and Dates

2008-01-13T23:59:00.007Z

It is difficult to determine the precise date of a record from the label design it is carrying. There is not a great economy of scale when pressing records as the stampers have to be renewed once every 300 - 500 copies, but printing labels and sleeves offer massive gains from long print runs. Record companies therefore tend to stock up on labels for a particular record and keep using them when newer releases are appearing with labels of a later design. So that has to be born in mind, and it probably explains why there is such an overlap of designs with the Takoma output. What doesn't happen though is a new release appearing with an old design (unless this were to be done by deliberate intent). So it is possible to determine fairly accurately when a design comes into use. Major record companies print their labels in two stages: first the design and then the record details over the top. But Takoma, like most small labels, didn't do this; all their designs were printed in one single process, using one ink over coloured paper. This increased the necessity of carrying large stocks, and of old designs continuing to be used with the older releases.

There are three main label designs that Takoma use. The first is black with plain silver writing, the second is orange (with the 'T' design in purple), and the third is the label with two dragons. There are two main variants with the original black & silver label. The earlier one has two parallel lines across it and a glossy finish, and the later one lacks the lines and is matt. The last Fahey album to appear with the label with the two lines across is 'Days Have Gone By', and the last album with the unlined version is 'The New Possibility'.

The orange label last appears on 'America', the only Fahey album to have carried this design at release. Then comes the dragon label, which Barry Hansen tells me JF acquired from an old British Columbia '78 of some Indonesian music from around 1930. This comes in four main designs. The first is in black (well actually it's near black, with a slight hint of blue, but it appears black to the naked eye). The continuous outer gold ring is inside the edge of the label, so the label has a black outer rim, and the word 'STEREO' appears at the bottom of the label. This label is only found on records released before 1972, and is clearly the earliest variant. It is replaced with a label that has a more visible blue tone (it photographs up as bluer than it appears in real life) where the outer ring is a broken line - it is actually a stroboscopic ring, and will work correctly when you live where there's a 60 Hz electricity supply. 'STEREO' remains at the bottom of the label.

In 1973, changes to copyright law meant that Takoma started printing copyright information on their labels; they placed this at the bottom of the label and moved the 'STEREO' inscription up to the mid-right. The stroboscopic design was retained, and 'Fare Forward Voyagers' and the Takoma reissue of 'Transfiguration' were released with this design. Takoma then reverted to the original dragon design, but this time the gold outer ring is right at the rim of the label, there is a copyright notice at the bottom, and 'STEREO' is in the mid-right position.

No Fahey album was released from new with either of the first two Dragon designs. 'America' was released in 1971 with the orange label, and 'Fare Forward Voyagers' in 1973 with the second of the stroboscopic variants. So the life of the first dragon variant was a very short one indeed, essentially only in 1972, a year Takoma released only one record (and that was on a subsidiary label - Devi). Nevertheless, that first Dragon design is the most commonly seen, so either Takoma got offered a very special deal at the printers or they decided to stockpile records. The latter may in fact be the case, as there was a developing oil crisis at the time, and the price of raw vinyl was rising rapidly. But I can't be certain. I have only seen the final dragon design used on 'Days Have Gone By' 'Voice of the Turtle' and 'The New Possibility', of the 1960s albums.

I need to say a bit more about the very early label designs. Before the label with the two lines across became standard, Takoma used labels with no fixed design other than being black with silver lettering. For the Fahey collector, this involves only the first three albums (the ones that come in plain black-and-white sleeves). So allowing for label designs that were probably one-off for those very earliest albums, I have given the following dates to the various label designs:

Black and silver with parallel lines - up to 1967

Plain black & silver 1968

Orange & purple 1970

1st black & gold dragon 1972

1st blue & gold stroboscopic dragon 1973

2nd blue & gold stroboscopic dragon 1973

Final black & gold dragon 1975

(If you want to see these seven designs photographed in sequence, click here.)

The dates displayed with the labels in the posts below is either the date the record was released, or the date by which the label design was known to be in use, whichever is the later. It is not the date on which any particular record was pressed.

I am not a Takoma collector, only Fahey. If this is read by someone with details of other Takoma albums which make it possible to narrow down these dates, please get in touch.

John Fahey / Blind Joe Death

2008-01-13T22:30:00.017Z

The original 1959 release:

Circa 1965:

The 1968 release:

Circa 1970:

Circa 1972 (monaural):

Circa 1972 (stereo):

Circa 1977:

Circa 2005 reissue of 1959 release:

For the photos of the labels for the original 1959 release, my thanks to Glenn Jones. The recent reissue of that version appeared in two pressings, one a basic pressing and the other on audiophile 180gm vinyl. Both are pressed from the same master and I can discern no difference in the (very good) sound. They are a wonderful opportunity to listen to a record that has never been available before, other than that rare and now absurdly valuable original pressing.

Five of the tracks from the 1959 sessions did not make it onto the later releases, nor the CD, but you can find these here as downloads, plus the full St Louis Blues, which was shortened for the 1964 release:

West Coast Blues

St Louis Blues

In Christ There Is No East or West

The Transcendental Waterfall

On Doing an Evil Deed Blues

I have to put in something of a caveat on the final track; it is almost certain that 'Desperate Man Blues' was not re-recorded for the '64 release. The track that I recorded has a sound that is very lacking in top end, but the performance itself does appear the same. However, the muddy sound here (compared to the '64) does not replicate on 'St Louis Blues', despite both being presumably recorded from the same source. Fahey was certainly capable of delivering performances that border on the identical when he was of a mind to; nevertheless I definitely favour the notion that the track was not re-recorded. But it's here anyway, so you can judge for yourself.

Desperate Man Blues

I am grateful to Paul Bryant for pointing out that 'The Transcendental Waterfall' on the 1967 recording of this album is not, despite the information on the CD liner notes, an edited version of the 1964 recording, but an entirely fresh performance. Here is a link to download the 1967 stereo recording:

The Transcendental Waterfall

Death Chants, Breakdowns, and Military Waltzes

2008-01-13T22:20:00.008Z

The original 1963 release:

Circa 1965:

The 1968 release:

Circa 1970:

Circa 1972:

Circa 1973:

The 1972 'dragon' label came initially and very briefly claiming to be 'Monaural'; it wasn't of course. This appears to be the only dragon label that uses that moniker, despite many mono records remaining in the catalogue.

With the 1967 sleeve, the track listings for the two sides are reversed on the back. I suspect Takoma got a bit confused, meaning to do it on 'Dance of Death' instead (see my notes with the entry for that album). The track 'Take a Look at That Baby' is not listed on the cover at all. These mistakes were repeated on the 1968 cover.

Dance of Death & Other Plantation Favorites

2008-01-13T19:16:00.004Z

The original 1965 release:

Circa 1965:

Circa 1970:

Circa 1972:

Later copies of this record are labelled as stereo but they aren't; regardless of labelling all pressings of this record were actually mono.

The original label design for this record is as far as I am aware unique, never used on any other Takoma release. The second design actually uses different typefaces on each side of the record (look at the centre of the 'O' in 'TAKOMA')! I have other copies that use one or the other, but never both together.

Matrices for this record are: 'SCORE: TAKOMA 4 FAHEY 3 - A' and 'SCORE: TAKOMA 4 FAHEY 3 - B'. And there's an interesting story here too; the gentleman who mastered the disc was so amused by his little joke in presenting the matrix numbers as a score that he put the 'A' and the 'B' on the wrong sides of the masters (or maybe he was told to?). This caused some chaos, with the labels being put on the wrong sides for some time. If you look at the labels above you will see that the Dragon label transfers the track listing between the sides and this puts the track listings on the label in line with what's on the vinyl (but now the opposite to what is printed on the sleeve!). The only copy I have seen that is correctly labelled and matches the sleeve listing is that very first pressing. It gets slightly more complicated in that there is a 'hidden' track at the end of 'Give Me Cornbread When I'm Hungry'. People tend to think that this bonus track is only to be found on rare early pressings, but it is actually on all US copies pressed between 1965 and 1979. But people who go looking for it, if the album is mislabelled, tend to play 'Worried Blues' believing it to be 'Cornbread', and then think that they don't have the bonus track. For confusion, it's not exactly in the 'Voice of the Turtle' class, but it can take some getting your head around. The tune that appears at the end of 'Cornbread' is called 'Country Blues'. I originally put up the beginning of 'Dance of Death' in error, and look rather foolish as a result, but here is the correct Country Blues as a download; it isn't on the CD. My thanks to Malcolm Kirton for being very patient in correcting me, and for elucidating the connection between 'Cornbread' and 'Country Blues', which is that Dock Boggs' original 'Country Blues' includes the lines:
Give me cornbread when I'm hungry, good people, corn whiskey when I'm dry
Pretty women a-standing around me
Sweet heaven when I die

The Adelphi sessions which produced this album turned up many outtakes, and here is the first: Television Song

In 1967, the first three albums were repackaged. Volumes 1 & 2 were new recordings, but this one wasn't. It was retitled 'Volume 3: The Dance of Death and Other Plantation Favorites'.

GUITAR Volume 4

2008-01-13T18:40:00.001Z

The original 1966 release:

Circa 1968:

Circa 1970:

Circa 1972:

Circa 1973:

Circa 1975:

Curious: the 1970 orange label has the track listing on side 1 all in upper-case, where side 2 is mixed-case.

There are three sleeve variations that I have seen for this album. All use a single coloured wrapper pasted round a black sleeve. The first two are brown/bronze, and the differences between them are that the second one has the Takoma 'T' logo in the upper right-hand corner of the front cover and that a map replaces the discography on the rear cover. The final sleeves are red. None bear any indication as to whether the record inside is likely to be labelled as mono or stereo.

The matrices for this record are 'TAKOMA C1008 A' and 'TAKOMA C1008 B'

(My thanks to Chris Ullsperger for giving me a prompt to correct my earlier entry here)

Volume 5: The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death

2008-01-13T18:38:00.021Z

The Riverboat pre-release subscription edition, 1965:

The 1967 Riverboat release:

The 1973 Takoma reissue:

Circa 1983 Allegiance Reissue:

This album was first released in a numbered limited edition of 50 copies with hand-written labels. The copy shown here is #1. Interestingly, this label shows the record as being 'IV' but Riverboat's February 1967 commercial release was of course 'Volume 5'. The Riverboat copies are pressed on a strange semi-translucent vinyl (try holding one up to the light). Early copies are all peppered with small craters; later copies are less translucent and have a flat surface. Takoma acquired the Riverboat metals and continued to use them for their own pressings.

Volume 6: Days Have Gone By

2008-01-13T16:15:00.004Z

The original 1967 release:

Circa 1968:

Circa 1972:

Circa 1975:

The last Fahey album to be officially released in mono, and the last to use the black and silver label with the two horizontal lines. The 1975 label design is unusual in retaining the black rim of the 1972 design. Once again a single wrap cover which didn't disappear from circulation until circa 1976, when Takoma had some two sheet covers printed. Neither sleeve indicates whether the record within was mono or stereo; later records were labelled as stereo but were as usual the mono pressings. This was the only album where Tom Weller's 'psychedelic' era cover survived until the end; the three for Volumes 1-3 were replaced very quickly. Note the missing 'y' from 'factory' across all these label designs, which were obviously not prepared by anyone familiar with Fahey's intentions!
Takoma originally listed this album in April 1967 as due soon; at that point they were intending to call it 'The Portland Cement Factory at Monolith, California'. Shame, it's a great album title!

Requia

2008-01-13T16:12:00.004Z

The original 1967 release:

Circa 1968:

Circa 1978:

Although Vanguard switched from a bronze to a champagne label (abandoning the 'STEREOLAB' moniker at the same time) in 1968, the original 1967 label (and sleeve, which also included the mono release details) remained available until well into the 1980s as old stock.

If you have a copy of the mono release of this album, and are able to let me have photos, I would be very grateful.

The Voice of the Turtle

2008-01-13T16:11:00.002Z

Unreleased, circa 1967:

The 1968 Release:

Circa 1970:

Circa 1972:

Circa 1973:

Circa 1975:

Many of you will know that this album originally came in two different versions - one has 11 tracks, the other 12 with a considerable number of differences. Contrary to widespread belief the original release has the black & silver label shown here, which is found in both versions. Only one of these appears on the CD reissue. The existence of the second version isn't even mentioned in the CD's notes, and that CD needs a complete overhaul both with quality and content. So if you only have the CD or a post-1973 pressing of the album you probably won't have heard these tracks, recorded off the original 1968 LP shown here; click on the links below to get the mp3 downloads:

Bottleneck Blues - edited version to that on later album and CD

Bean Vine Blues - a completely different song; Joe Bussard Jnr. & Fahey.

A Raga Called Pat, Part III - a different mix, and considerably longer than the CD version.

A Raga Called Pat, Part IV - a different mix.

Train (shown on the label as 'The Little Train That Couldn't') - again, a completely different song, this is an outtake from the 'Transfiguration' sessions, with Fahey, L Mayne Smith and Mark Levine.

And here are four outtakes from the album: ....Lo How A Rose .... Kuolema .... Leaving Home .... Texas & Pacific Blues

The International Fahey Committee have a lot of really interesting stuff to say about this album. Sadly, at the time of posting this there are a few significant inaccuracies there too; for a detailed look at the complex history of the album you should read my 'Mystery of the Turtle' post.

(A note to the Concord Music Group: Please sort the 'Turtle' CD. These tracks and the others should be on it too, and you could master the whole thing rather better than Fantasy managed while you're about it.)

The Yellow Princess

2008-01-13T16:10:00.003Z

The original 1968 release:

Circa 1978:

The New Possibility. John Fahey's Guitar Soli Christmas Album

2008-01-13T16:05:00.006Z

The original 1968 release:

Circa 1970:

Circa 1973:

Circa 1975:

Circa 1977:

Circa 1983 Allegiance reissue:

Thel ast of Fahey's albums to use the black & silver label, although it's difficult to find.

As is so often the case, the orange label says 'monaural' although the record itself is stereo.

The 1976 style dragon label shown for this record is very unusual in being in black and ivory; the ivory is a very good match with the colour of the textured Takoma sleeve although that appears to be coincidence. This is the last Takoma label that doesn't show the title of the album.

Some copies of this album have sleeve notes on the back, some don't; I believe that only later pressings lack them, but that Takoma continued to use both sleeves. Maybe the sleeves without notes were intended for the non-Christian market.

Takoma era sleeves have the 'T' logo in the upper right-hand corner; this is removed from the re-issues.

Thanks to Malcolm Kirton for photographing the orange labels for me.

America

2008-01-13T12:09:00.002Z

The original 1971 release:

Circa 1972:

Circa 1973:

Mark 1:15 has been edited and lost 2 minutes on the CD issue of this album. You can download the unedited version here: Mark 1:15

Of Rivers and Religion

2008-01-13T11:30:00.002Z

The Original 1972 Release:

Promotional label 1972:

After the Ball

2008-01-13T11:10:00.001Z

The Original 1973 Release:

Promotional Label 1973:

Fare Forward Voyagers (Soldier's Choice)

2008-01-13T11:00:00.001Z

The Original 1973 Release:

The Essential John Fahey

2008-01-13T10:50:00.003Z

The original 1974 release:

Circa 1978:

Although this was simply a straight reissue of Fahey's earlier two albums for the label, Vanguard surprisingly recut the lacquer masters

Old Fashioned Love

2008-01-13T10:40:00.001Z

The Original 1975 Release:

Circa 1983 Allegiance reissue:

Christmas with John Fahey Volume II

2008-01-13T09:30:00.001Z

The original 1975 release:

1980 Chrysalis reissue:

Circa 1983 Allegiance reissue:

The Takoma era sleeve has the 'T' logo in the lower right-hand corner. As with the earlier albums, it was removed on the later reissues. It was a surprising reappearance, as it had not been used by Takoma for several years.

John Fahey Visits Washington DC

2008-01-13T09:00:00.001Z

The Original 1979 Release:

Yes! Jesus Loves Me

2008-01-13T08:30:00.001Z

The Original 1980 Release:

Live in Tasmania

2008-01-13T08:00:00.001Z

The Original 1981 Release:

Christmas Guitar Vol 1

2008-01-13T07:30:00.001Z

The Original 1982 Release:

Circa 1984:

As most of you will know, a reworking of 1968's 'The New Possibility'. And a nice bit of homage - no album title on the label!

Railroad

2008-01-13T07:00:00.002Z

The Original 1983 Release:

Takoma must have only just been acquired by Allegiance when this album came out. They are still using the Chrysalis TAK numbering, and the label has no mention of Allegiance whatsoever.

The title says Railroads 1 where the sleeve shows Railroad 1. The correct title was 'Railroad', as is used on the Shanachie CD release.

Popular Songs of Christmas and New Year's

2008-01-13T06:30:00.002Z

The Original 1983 Release:

Circa 1985:

Let Go

2008-01-13T06:00:00.001Z

The Original 1984 Release:

Rain Forests, Oceans, and Other Themes

2008-01-13T05:30:00.001Z

The Original 1986 Release:

I Remember Blind Joe Death

2008-01-13T05:15:00.001Z

The Original 1987 Release:

God, Time and Causality

2008-01-13T05:00:00.001Z

The Original 1989 Release:

The last Fahey album to be released on vinyl other than in a limited edition. The album came with a booklet containing some sheet music, which was also supplied with early copies of the CD.

Double 78 (Morning / Evening, not night)

2008-01-13T04:55:00.000Z

The original 1996 release:

This set came in a traditional styled 'album'

The Mill Pond

2008-01-13T04:45:00.001Z

The original 1997 release:

A double 7" disc set, released on Little Brother in an edition of 1000. This is one of the earliest copies with the handwritten label on disc 2 (most were stamped like disc 1 is here.

It has now been issued on a limited edition CD by Important Records.

Georgia Stomps, Atlanta Struts & Other Contemporary Dance Favorites

2008-01-13T04:30:00.001Z

The original 1998 release:

Hard Time Empty Bottle Blues

2008-01-13T03:48:00.001Z

The 2003 Limited Edition:

The Whole 12 Inches:

A one-sided record, released as shown here in a single limited edition. It is pressed on clear vinyl, with a picture silk-screened on the underside. It was sold in a clear plastic cover with no other sleeve. It has subsequently been included in a box set, but not with this presentation.

As there's no side 2, I've put up a picture of the whole disc; I hope I've managed to display the artwork as clearly as is possible.

Hitomi

2008-01-13T03:13:00.001Z

The 2003 Important vinyl release:

A limited edition of 1000. The first 100 copies only were in clear vinyl. The black vinyl pressings used identical labels.

Originally released by LivHouse on CD in 2000.

Red Cross

2008-01-13T03:00:00.002Z

The original 2003 release:

This album was originally released in packaging that was close in feel to that of the CD, and then in a numbered limited edition of 1000. The earlier release is better presented, and far more difficult to find; it commands a price two to three that of the numbered edition.

Sea Changes & Coelacanths

2008-01-13T02:53:00.000Z

The original 2006 release:

This box set offered the only available vinyl pressing of Womblife.

Fonotone

2008-01-13T00:45:00.006Z

I was relieved of all my Fonotones many years ago, so I'm just going to put the labels up here as I can find them. Thanks to Olaf for the 78s.

78rpm release:

78rpm release:

45rpm release:

78rpm release:

The 12" LPs:

The last eight labels are of four LPs Joe Bussard cut for a customer as one-offs, and are almost certainly unique. To find out more about these, look here.

They Didn't Make it to Vinyl...

2008-01-13T00:27:00.000Z

As an enthusiast, I'll listen to any format, but I do enjoy the sound from vinyl best of all, and it is the only format that I actually 'collect'. So you won't find pictures here of 8-track, cassette, or CD versions. The CD revolution of the mid-80's sadly took it's toll of releases appearing on vinyl, although John's late catalogue is better served than many. Of his main releases the following have not, as far as I am aware, made it to vinyl:

Christmas with John Fahey (1991)

Old Girlfriends and Other Horrible Memories (1992)

City of Refuge (1997)

Womblife (1997) - although it has subsequently appeared in a box set.

The Epiphany of Glenn Jones (with Cul-de-Sac) (1997)

If any of these did in fact appear, perhaps you will add a comment. Photos of the labels via my email would be wonderful.

Ed Denson on Fahey and 'Transfiguration'

2008-01-12T22:03:00.001Z

An intriguing article from 1966 written by Ed Denson when he was managing John Fahey. I've done my best to crop it so that it will post up here and be reasonably readable despite the joins. It is obvious that Ed Denson is happy to play the same games as John Fahey when it comes to mythologising the 'Transfiguration' album.

Jo Gerrard: Dark Nights

2008-01-12T21:07:00.000Z

It was raining on Sunday night and I asked my friends to go see John Fahey playing at freight and Salvage on Monday night. i couldn't believe they both wanted to go. I had written to him four months earlier when his Anthology, Return of the Repressed came out. He hadn't written back. My first fan letter and it didn't get answered.

STRUGGLES

My software business (children's software) was struggling. I was 43. divorced after 11 years with a seven year old son. I was working day and night to get the business up. My live work unit was by the train tracks. I was living on the edge of the world. The business eat, money, time and all my energy. But it was a place to put my art, my writing and I had hopes. When Returned of the Repressed came out I put in my computer's cd-player and with head phones churned out the work. His mastery was inspiring. If John Fahey with all his problems could keep going I could too. I was so inspired I wrote him a fan letter secretly hoping he might write back.

HARI KRISHNA

The first time I heard John Fahey was in high school in 1970. He came to Cal poly San Luis Obispo. He was late. His plane had been delayed. We waited awhile. He walked in with a garland of flowers which he took off and put on a chair. He was grouchy and told us that we were making too much noise on our squeaky folding chairs. I remember that concert note for note.

SMALL TOWN GIRL SEES GROUCH

I lived in a small town Arroyo Grande twenty miles away. I found myself listening to guitar, no words, no back up. No singers. No tunes that I could hum. But I was fascinated. (Primarily because he looked a bit like my drama teacher who I had a crush on and because I had never heard anything in any way like what I was listening to). John Fahey took notes that didn't belong together and worked them until I knew they did.

THE YELLOW PRINCESS

I didn't know my favorite piece Yellow Princess was about a boat. I thought it was me. The Yellow Princess bound in a space and time that didn't fit. In college I bought my first John Fahey album. He always had the worst photographs of himself. He mostly looked like a borderline derelict. (In reality John actually had a good face. Very blue eyes and good strong features. He did look straggly. But he never looked as bad as his photos on the CD's.) The liner notes were about the same as the photos. John had a free form letter.

I followed his career as much as I could. I got married when I was 19 in college and dragged my husband to the Boarding House in San Francisco. We could only get tickets to the second show which was too late for me. fell asleep watching John play and chug Coca-Cola.
I was always surprised truthfully that anyone else liked his music. Usually when I like something, I find I am the only person or one of few. I read he was married to someone named Melody and as John's groupie I felt jealous. Oh to be named Melody. If only he had met me.

A STRANGE MEETING

It was a Monday night and Stephan Grossman was recording the gig for a tape. John was the last act. Two very long acts went before him. During intermission I saw someone who looked like a Hawaiian Santa Claus walking down the right aisle with dark glasses. I did a double take. It had to be him. Maybe he had gone blind. I knew he had been sick. I had come this far I left my friends and darted out quickly and found him sitting on a couch talking to a young man. I brazenly went up to him and asked him why he hadn't answer my letter. He said he hadn't gotten it. I asked him if he would like to have coffee. He said he didn't drink coffee but sure. We figured out that he was recording the whole next day so we agreed to meet after the show7. I was a little undone by the speed of this. John also looked a little unkempt. I wouldn't have been interested in someone looking like him, dark glasses, tee shirt, and straggly beard but this was John Fahey. This was the person that wrote Yellow Princess. I kept this in my mind and took my heart in my hand. He seemed to have a very sweet side as well and I had a lot to ask him.

The next week was a whole series of events that I haven't really sorted out. Somehow we were very similar in that we were totally unpractical. John was a very sweet person and he was also a total mess. I was nervous about our first dinner date at the Thai restaurant down the street. After all what were we going to talk about? Did we have anything in common besides me being a fan of his? I didn't play music. I was twenty years younger than him. We didn't even have friends in common (in turned out that we actually did).

We found we were both Hindu (by choice not birth). We were also both half Jewish. I asked John questions about Hinduism. He wrote down a mantra and handed it to me and answered some basic questions. John had studied in India and introduced me to Sri Anadamayi Ma one of the great Indian Saints. He told me about the monkeys at the Ashram who stole his shoes who he had to bribe with bananas. He told me the garland I saw him with in San Luis Obispo w'as presented by the head of the Hare Krishna movement Srila Prabhupada who he was friends with.

John was very unassuming spiritually which I appreciated immensely. All of these antidotes were said without any pride and in total humility. (I can't say that about his views on psychoanalysis) John told me he saw Jesus on an airplane. There were black children around him and John felt that Jesus loved them. John said he started to cry and was totally embarrassed at what the other passengers would think. John said at one time he and a girl friend had driven across the United States staying at religious residential places and that they were similar to Ashrams. He mentioned that these sites would change religions. The head minister for instance would decide the church was going to be Methodist and the whole congregation formerly another denomination would change. Later they
might change to Baptist. He said this was not uncommon. He told me This girl friend who he met similar to me on chance eventually went insane. He cared about her a great deal.

JOHN'S SUCCESS- EARNED IN ANOTHER LIFE

John told me that he felt everything had been handed to him. He had worked for nothing. He said that Tacoma had made money by centering on college radio stations. He thought he was popular because people remember when they were in love in college when they listened to him. Tacoma went down because he was never in the studio. He would tell the group to record one person and come back after touring and find they had recorded someone else. His wife also went off with the recording engineer...

He went through my CD collection and taped sections for his new pieces. I traded him the right to my art work for the rights to his music. He looked at my work and said oh sad so sad. Making fun of me and I had to laugh. Yeah I was getting sick of the sad thing too.

PILLS PILLS EVERYWHERE

He took so many prescription drugs it was shocking, I think it was as many as 28 pills a day. He had restless leg syndrome and many other problems. As he said "I'm always high". I told him about being in awe of him and he kindly told me of how he felt the same way when he met Bola Seta.

THE WEEK OF BEING COMMITTED

Somehow we started planning our future together. John told people I was his fiancée and let him, He moved out of the hotel and stayed in my loft apartment. He started meditating and doing Yoga. He told his agent that he hadn't realized how out of shape he was. He went out with some friends and we talked about how to get him medical coverage in Berkeley. Then it all fell backward. He hurt his leg (reactivated an old injury). I got on his nerves. He accused me of being ambivalent and got very angry about this slight which I didn't understand. He said I was demanding and he could feel it when I walked into the loft. I think it was all too much for him. The thought of changing. He had been living the way he wanted which I am sure was pretty bad as to the trash, and laundry. I basically had to wait on him and it was difficult for me. I felt torn.

DREAMS

The dream of having a creative companion and the reality of waiting on someone much older and sicker when I had a child was staring at me. My Dharma (duty) was to my son no matter what I wanted to do. Taking care of John would not be easy. We both wanted to be together and we both wanted to be apart with no responsibilities. He had dreams of me waiting on him and I had dreams of him helping me.

FANS

What amazed me was how many of my friends also loved John Fahey. I had a stream of visitors with their albums for him to sign. He told us about how Charles Manson had come to his record company and how the cover my friend brought to sign was illustrated by someone who they were all scared of. They just let him do it to get him to leave. He liked be in the limelight and he hated it because he said people wanted to make him a God.

MUSIC

Music never stopped when he was staying with me. He bought Balinese music and played the albums which were ethereal. He went through my collection telling me antidotes about different performers. Van Morrison was a nice guy who had very bad stage fright. He said Leo Kottke would rather be on the road than at a home.

PLAYING

John played his guitar the music for "statues" where my young son and his friend would stop when the music stopped. My son asked me when John was going to record Christmas music for Stephan Grossman if John was going to be Santa Claus.

John had me do some sort of hand game with him where I copied his hand movements. He was totally self contained like an avahoota (a wild spiritual man who does not conform to the regular demands of the society). He spit out statements which made me wince. He thought Jung was a Nazi. He got into a lather about several friends who he was very mad at. We both had had very difficulty childhoods. John felt that his years of psychoanalysis had recovered his lost memory of sadistic father. He and his mother had been terrorized. He had sad longing for his father and was upset at his Mother. My story was similar in a much less dramatic manner. We were both loners as most artists are, taking solace from the sad emotional well that was given to us at a young age.

John listened to an artist I now forget. He said his mother played this music when she was ironing. That music was him. I said I felt the same way out his music. The core of me is in his music.

DISSOLVE

As quick as our relationship had begun it flew apart just as fast. I washed John's plane ticket in his clothes and the paper was everywhere. He was good natured. He told me about giving the house to Melody in exchange for the royalties. I was shocked at the thought of living in the salvation army. He said it was good He felt humiliated but there were a lot of people who needed someone to listen to them and he after many years of psychotherapy did what his therapist had done for him. John got calls at my house and I could see that his career was picking up. Fantasy just signed a contract with him. He has inherited some money from his father. An avant-garde group was interested in collaborating with him (which they eventually did). John was reluctant about touring but I guess he got over that.

THE LAST STAND

I was serving John meals because he was flat on his back. What had started out as a growing romance ended up as me taking care of him and getting worn out. We tried to lighten it up by going to a flea market where John was delighted to see tapes for sale of Hitler's speeches. Red flags went up in my head as I knew he would be playing them as he did all the music he recorded over and over. I did not want to hear Hitler in my house even if it was for an art piece. I drew the first line. I said "you can't play them in my apartment". He said "no one is going to tell me what to do." I said "o.k. then will drive him back to the hotel." In my mind I wanted it to happen fast so I could start the intense cleanup at the loft. During his stay the sink had overflow, the toilet backed up and there was lint from the check all over the rug. I wanted out. Yellow Princess or no Yellow Princess.

John sang to me that "he loved me and he was sorry." But he seemed a bit too happy. I couldn't go backwards. I woke up to the fact. John was way too much for me. I had a son, and a business to get out of the ground. John and I had a scuffle when I helped carry his bags to his room. He wanted me to stay and I was pissed. Still mad about Hitler (and a couple of other heated arguments where he accused me of attacking me). He had scared me.

When he left I took out the vacuum cleaner and cleaned and cleaned, picking up the lint that was everywhere, washing every sheet and doing all the dishes and taking out the trash and I lay on my bed and cried and cried. I hadn't been in a good place in the first place and here it was a week before Valentines Day, a cold winter and I was in a worse place. I felt humiliated. I cried my eyes out after he left and cried to his Guru Anandamayi who I didn't know much about. I begged her to help me and it was the fastest help I ever got. I usually manage to be in despair for sometime. But I felt as though a big Mother figure came and held me.

We tried to keep up a friendship but it was impossible. I wrote letters and John finally answered his phone and we arranged a date for me to come up and see him in Oregon. He stood me up and it was a final ending. I had to let go. He told me he had tried the hardest with me then anyone. I don't know if that was true but I think he thought it was. I don't think he had any reserves. His health was poor and they always say if you don't have a good relationship with your Mother it's very difficult to have a relationship. John said we both needed someone to take care of us. He wanted me to marry someone really good. John where ever you are I did..

JO GERRARD

Mike Butler: All Pain and No Gain

2008-01-12T20:59:00.000Z

John Fahey’s UK Tour, 1999

A bowdlerised version of this piece appeared in the April 2001edition of Mojo, to mark John Fahey’s death. It originally appeared in issue 5 of the Abner Burnett Newsletter (December, 1999), and is revised here. As painful as it is, the tale of the showdown between ‘Blind Joe Death’ and ‘Bogus Blind Drunk Burnett’ is the ultimate rock ‘n’ roll disaster story. By Mike Butler.

I don’t understand what you are worrying about. I have been touring this year in Japan, Germany, Holland, and there hasn’t been any kind of trouble anywhere. I’m not a ‘no-show’. Three months ago I decided I like touring and hate staying home and am going to tour the rest of my life. I don’t drink anymore, don’t take non-prescription drugs. I’m trusting you to do a good job, why not trust me to do a good job? - John Fahey to Paul Kelly and Mike Butler, 24 July, 1999

Fahey is freaking out about his new love. The travel agent says that from what she has seen when they show up to confuse the travel logistics, the romance is much more heated on his side of the stove. If Hitomi abandons our artist, we may be conductors on the dark diesel blinds that ride mighty John Fahey into storied oblivion. He may deliver a series of performances so despondent that Worpt is remembered as the promotion company upon whose mount the Grim Reaper rode to extinguish all enthusiasm for all time for ‘Roots Americana’. If so, and he is depressing, I will outdo him measure for measure: macabre, lurid, sordid, self-absorbed negativity - Abner Burnett to Mike Butler and Paul Kelly, 31 August, 1999

Tours don’t happen by themselves. The players behind the scenes are as crucial to the success of a tour as the players on-stage. When the backroom boys become as susceptible to grandiose delusion as any strutting prima donna, the results can be catastrophic. Take the case of Worpt UK...

As a part-time music scribe and a part-time promoter (all these part-times add up to one full-time), I do my best to raise the profile of Abner Burnett, Texas attorney, herbal nurseryman and - here’s the rub - genius songsmith. To this end, I formed a small music promotion company called Worpt UK.

To extend the dramatic personae of our tale: Paul Kelly is a former psychiatric nurse. I knew him as a face, sometimes the only other face, at the improvised jazz gigs we attended in our hometown of Manchester. When Kelly proposed that Worpt UK sponsor a joint-tour by Derek Bailey and John Fahey, I saw possibilities in the scheme. John Fahey has been an enthusiasm since schooldays (about the right age to be impressed by someone with an alter-ego called Blind Joe Death). And Derek Bailey, of course, has carved an entirely new language for the guitar. The idea of the genre-smashing pairing appealed.

Paul Kelly’s integrity was soon thrown into question, however. In 1998 Helter Skelter published Like The Night, CP Lee’s account of Bob Dylan’s 1966 Free Trade Hall gig in Manchester. The book included photographs of the concert, credited to Paul Kelly. The authorship of these photographs was disputed, and became the subject of litigation. Notwithstanding, Kelly proved to be a capable organiser. He found venues, established contacts with promoters in the various regions, booked hotel accommodation and finalised the itinerary in double-quick time. All that was needed was an investor to back the venture.

Abner Burnett is a lawyer by day who occasionally represents widows when their husbands are killed in the oilfields. Drilling crews often drop heavy objects on each other or just blow each other up. Having recently settled a case and picked up his usual exorbitant fee, Burnett is eager to piss it away on a musical mystery tour called Guitar Excursions Into The Unknown - from Henry’s Take On The Tour, an unpublished account of the Fahey tour by Abner Burnett, writing as Henry McCarty.

The tour is called Guitar Excursions Into The Unknown after a track on Fahey’s 1966 LP, The Great San Bernadino Birthday Party And Other Excursions. A company is formed - Worpt UK Ltd - to oversee the operation. Burnett, Kelly and I become co-directors. The venture is immediately plunged - into the unknown.

Derek Bailey dropped out early. A civilised fellow with a lifetime’s experience of playing to empty rooms, Bailey may have had a presentiment of trouble to come. The drafting of a contract with Fahey’s Nashville-based tour agent proved to be a torturous process. The working methods of Do Easy Booking (proprietor, Mark Linn) belie the name.

We are on the edge, which is where all courageous rock & roll lunatics should hang. Everybody get tense. If you’re feeling at ease, find and take some poorly manufactured speed, something with that strychnine veneer - Abner Burnett to Mike Butler and Paul Kelly, 25 August, 1999.

The hunt for passport details turns up some surprises. For instance, Fahey’s middle name is Aloysious, evidence of his Irish American roots. And Fahey’s mysterious ‘assistant’ - whose airfare Worpt is contractually obligated to provide - is eventually identified as Hitomi, a girlfriend acquired during a recent tour of Japan. The course of this Autumn/Spring romance, it seemed, was not running smoothly.

The Tour Journal

Monday, September 6, 1999
‘I got past the saddest music in the world, and I decided to do the angriest music in the world.’ This explanation is announced by Fahey from a hotel-room in Salem, Oregon. I’m conducting a phone interview for pre-tour publicity. Standard questions receive standard replies. Then Fahey’s fluting voice cracks and breaks. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, but my Japanese girlfriend broke up with me.’ Uncertain how to respond, I mumble some ineffectual words of consolation. ‘How will it affect your playing?’ I ask (the inner Promoter beating off the inner Samaritan). ‘It should be excellent,’ replies Fahey. ‘I play better when I’m mad, and I’m as mad as hell.’

He seriously asks me call up his girlfriend in Tokyo. ‘I don’t want her to think she’s going to get away with this,’ he says. ‘And tell all your friends to phone.’ Alarm bells start to ring. Curiously, these alarm bells failed to sound when I read the Fahey quote about Jerry Garcia (in Mojo 39): ‘The more people like that who die the better.’ Certain forms of eccentricity are less acceptable at close quarters, I suppose.

Tuesday, September 14, 1999
The travel agent in Oregon makes a blunder with the ticket. Fahey arrives at Glasgow Airport 24 hours before his due time. I accept reverse charges on a series of increasingly desperate phone-calls. The guitarist is friendless, tired, hungry and penniless. His wallet has been stolen. ‘You gotta rescue me, man,’ he whines in a pitiful falsetto. He is calling from The Post House Hotel at Glasgow Airport. On the third attempt to contact the Hotel, I manage to bypass the automated switchboard and talk to a live human being. I arrange for Fahey, a diabetic, to be given food and care. Kelly, already on the road in a hired van, picks up the unfortunate artiste some three hours after his arrival.

Wednesday, September 15, 1999
I travel to Edinburgh - the first concert of the tour is taking place tomorrow at The Queen’s Hall - and go to meet John Fahey at the Ibis Hotel. I recognise his distinctive form through the glass front. Kelly is with him, and there is also a little fellow in synthetic threads in nervous attendance. I enter.

The stranger vanishes before I clear the door. Gathering myself, I offer the Father of American Primitive Guitar my hand. The Father of American Primitive Guitar leaves my hand dangling. ‘Sit down!’ he barks. Kelly smirks, and remembers an engagement elsewhere. (A telling exchange follows. JF, anxiously: ‘I thought you were going to stay, man. I’m not sure of the figures.’ PK: ‘You can take care of it, John.’) Exit Paul Kelly. I take the offered chair with rising apprehension. Oh horror! Fahey removes his wrap-around sunglasses! He turns baleful, yellow eyes on me and delivers an ultimatum.

He has, he explains, no faith in Worpt UK or our ability to manage the tour. If the money for the first four gigs is not immediately forthcoming, the tour is off. He glances at some hastily scribbled notes, and mentions a figure of £4,400.

Such behaviour is not only unprofessional, but inhumane. In the recent past,. Worpt’s Man in America had conferred with travel agents about the feasibility of a round-trip for Fahey and girlfriend - from the USA to Japan, to Scotland, and back to the USA. Fahey’s pleading phone calls became so insistent that Susan, Abner’s partner, refused to take them any more.

‘Let me put it like this,’ wrote Abner (in a private email to me). ‘If you look up “professional” in the dictionary, Fahey is not even mentioned in the footnotes. Whereas if you look up “flaky as shit” it might have his picture.’

In the ample flesh, Fahey doesn’t look flaky at all. Grey whiskers adorn a scowling death’s head. His unchanging uniform of t-shirt and shorts is permanently soggy with juice stains and body fluids. ‘You better check in now,’ he says, by way of dismissal, having lightened me of £250 (all my ready money, and all the money available until the next day when the bank opens). I retreat to an impersonal hotel room and lie on the bed. I find that my impression of John Fahey has altered somewhat. A great artist with a great soul has been replaced by a horrible old man.

The Tour Journal

Thursday, September 16, 1999
Abner is providing support for the first four dates of the tour. He has other places to be - in fact, he’s marrying Susan in a week’s time - but he has a professional and financial interest in the success of the tour. When Abner steps off the plane at Glasgow Airport and meets Kelly for the first time, the Texan is approximately $10,000 ‘in the grease’.

Kelly had fallen prey to the delusion of self-importance. He had somehow gotten hold of the businessman’s earring, a cellular phone. It clashed however with his work shirt and baggy green corduroys. Burnett had a cell phone also, but hadn’t thought to haul it out for the occasion - from Henry’s Take On The Tour.

John Aloysious is no more friendly when Abner and I visit his hotel room in the afternoon. The old misanthrope is sitting up in bed eating ice cream and pizza (not a judicious meal for a diabetic). Also present are a couple collectively known as The House of Dubois, Scots-based promoters who have taken a special interest in the Fahey tour. I recognise the little fellow from the foyer. He introduces himself as Bob Mills. In fact, we’ve spoken a few times over the telephone. Once I asked, what is in this for you? Mills, hurt by the suspicion, replied that he was happy to work for the love of music alone. He and his business partner, Chris (a dimunition of Christine), cower under Fahey’s scan.

Abner goes over the terms so painstakingly negotiated with Mark Linn. Fahey pauses between scoops of ice cream. ‘I don’t have a contract with you. I’m talking about what that fucker over there promised me’. He gestures towards me with a spoon. Abner and I walk out. Chris runs after us with a compromise: John will take £1,400 as an advance (the figure represents all the money in the Worpt coffers). He insists on cash payment.

Ratfarts are probably seldom heard or properly identified by smell. They waft around the back doors and hallway exits. They mix in the kitchen with the better odours of well-planned dinners. It may have been that each player in the game had been pure hearted and intent upon a successful tour up to the point of confrontation in Fahey’s room. Maybe the bad smell was only ratfarts. More probably though, it was a rank stew of fear that would do anything, worship gone sweaty and stale, ‘ornery pride that denied its own odour and the bad breath of one pissed off jet-lagged Texas lawyer - from Henry’s Take On The Tour.

Upon our return from the bank Abner twice tries to give Fahey his money. At the first encounter the guitarist runs in the opposite direction. ‘I can’t take it now,’ he moans. ‘I’m going to vomit.’

The transaction is deferred until after Fahey’s appearance on Brian Morton’s radio show. He cuts an imposing figure in the hotel foyer, as he hitches up his shorts, dangles a bare leg over the chair-arm, and fingers an unplugged, solid-body guitar by way of rehearsal. The producer has requested short pieces. Fahey announces his displeasure as his bony fingers dig into the frets. He hammers out a single note and counts to five, and repeats again and again. He mutters menacingly, ‘They’re imposing a compositional form on me, and I don’t like that. You’ll be sorry. You’ll be sorry.’

A couple of hours later, with the radio broadcast accomplished, Fahey adopts the same posture as we all gather in the foyer to sort out rides to the Queen’s Hall, where fans are already thronging for their first glimpse of the enigmatic one. Fahey, however, is in no hurry. He counts and recounts his advance fee, arranging piles of Scottish pound-notes on his guitar case. Kelly, in his best Albert Grossman manner, is talking to the producer of Later on his mobile. I hear the phrase ‘force of nature’. Fahey nods in approval and, emboldened, he snarls at Abner, ‘I don’t have a contract with anyone.’ Abner seethes in impotent rage, which is possibly the desired effect.

Half an hour later Abner Burnett carries his first drink of the evening onto the stage of the Queen’s Hall; a double shot of Bell’s with ice. Bugs are already all over the project. Stray dogs languish by the fly-covered carcass panting and staring idiotically - from Henry’s Take On The Tour.

If Abner’s performance is lacklustre, Fahey’s set is lamentable. Turgid single-line licks are repeated obsessively. Juana, a pretty tune, is stretched beyond its natural length. Samba De Orfeu is attempted, fumbled and abandoned. He seems caught between a perverse desire to inflict punishment, and an innate showman’s desire to please. But he no longer has the resources to please, so reverts to his first intention.

The customised Fender Strat that Abner has been instructed to carry across the Atlantic is ignored. Instead, Fahey opts for a cheap model, hired for the radio session. Tuning is a hit-and-miss affair. The line between incessant re-tuning and desultory improvisation becomes increasingly blurred.

‘God-damn,’ says Abner from his seat in the back-row. ‘They’re walking out.’ It’s true. A trickle, and then a stampede, proceed to walk out, obviously wondering why they ever walked in. ‘Absolute mince,’ says one departing patron, summing up the general feeling. I later spent a day replying to letters of complaint. ‘The most puerile guitar playing I have ever heard,’ wrote Mr H Walker. ‘My seven year old grandson can put play better and put more feeling into music...’ Or, from Mrs J Wilson, summing up the general feeling: ‘Either Mr Fahey was drunk or he could not be bothered to play coherently.’

The bad playing, like the bad drugs and the bad food, can only be explained as an expression of profound self-loathing. The crowd is reduced to a core of die-hards, when, quite abruptly, the recital comes to an end. Fahey realises that he’s one minute over the one-and-a-quarter-hour performance time stipulated in his contract.

‘I’ll quit while I’m ahead,’ he remarks, which is asking for it. ‘Ahead of what?’ comes the reply from an audience member not yet completely benumbed by stupefaction. The artiste, unsure of the exit, manages to wrap himself around the stage-curtain as he departs. The echo of Eric Morecambe is poignant.

Abner has long since retired to the bar. A voice calls. ‘You’re not Derek Bailey.’ (The advance publicity has Derek Bailey as the co-star; yes, another clanger.) ‘You’re in trouble.’ ‘Buy me a drink and tell me about it,’ says Abner. It transpires that the stranger used to road manage for Tim Hardin, and knows a train wreck when he sees one. Abner joins the party, determined to forget his troubles. I join the table in time to learn that John Kennedy was shot by a retired football coach from Midland, Abner’s hometown.

Then I’m called away. The sound crew need paying, and I take a taxi to recover the company cheque book from the hotel-room. More expense! The tour has been all pain and no gain.

On return, I find the sound crew packing up in the deserted hall. Deserted, that is, except for a recumbent figure lying on the floor of the stage. Guitar titan John Fahey is snatching a moment of peace away from the mad hubbub. He is belly up as I enter. I duly pay Alex the soundman, conscious that the bulk on stage is stirring.

Fahey settles on one side, and props his head against his elbow. He stares dead ahead with a baselisk gaze. I can’t avoid his stare as I make my way out, trapped by rows of aisles on either side. His sunglasses offer no protection against the scouring intensity of his gaze. I grope for words, but nothing comes out. What can I say? That he was marvellous? That it was the best gig I’d ever seen? I calculate the distance to the door: freedom lies just beyond. I finally blurt out ‘Hello John,’ and make a dash for it.

Kelly, meanwhile, is stalking the bar looking for a dipsomaniac to kick. A strict abstinence man with the intolerance of a recovered alcoholic, Kelly is exasperated by the widespread belief that John Fahey is drunk. I emerge from the auditorium in time to see the former psychiatric nurse interposing his walrus-like frame between Abner and his new friends. ‘He’s not a real drunk, he just postures as a drunk,’ sneers Kelly. He fixes the singer at point-blank range, eyeball-to-eyeball, and spews forth a torrent of abuse.

Now I’ve been subject to this treatment more than once in recent days. I coped by blanking out the rant and saying to myself (because the threat of violence is implicit): ‘If this bastard lays a finger on me, I’ll prosecute’. Red-blooded Texans can’t be expected to show the same restraint. Abner tugs at Kelly’s collar. Tim Hardin’s road manager separates the two men. Kelly’s spluttering hysteria abruptly subsides. He has what he wants.

The Tour Journal

midnight, the morning of Friday,
September 17, 1999
The momentous gig is over. I accompany Abner, now known as ‘Bogus Blind Drunk’, to an afterhours bar called Whistlebinkies. Live music is provided by country-rockers of local repute. They play Pancho and Lefty at least three times during the night. Abner, the finest living interpreter of Pancho and Lefty, later claims that he sang the song on-stage with the band. I have no such recollection, and suspect Abner of planting a false memory.

He relates how a sheriff in a Texas backwater town had recently been exposed as a paedophile. The lawman was dragged out of his sheriff’s office weeping and howling, ‘Jesus Christ! I’m a Christian!’ Thereafter, the strains of faux honky-tonk are periodically accompanied by Abner’s authentic shitkicking cry of ‘Jesus Christ! I’m a Christian!’

‘Every silly son of a bitch who contributed to this debacle is going to get shovelled into the furnace for a long time,’ he says, warming to his theme. ‘Myself included.’ After several more whiskies and beer chasers (and an interval when a neighbour reads our palms), his thoughts turn to a more benign religion. ‘I’m a Buddhist. A little mound of particles which disperses into oblivion where more little mounds are being made.’ He says this with the serenity of complete exhaustion.

It is 3am, and we repair to the Ibis, where Abner has heard encouraging reports of the residents’ all-night bar. By now, Abner is taking a philosophical view of the situation. 'Going up in smoke is my stock-in-trade,’ he says, and collapses onto the floor, leaving his whiskey and beer chaser unfinished. A long-suffering hotel employee helps me carry him to our room.

On the one hand I’ve never seen a man so determined to relive the day he refused to eat his supper. On the other hand here’s a man who knows he’s dead no matter what, but keeps waiting around trying to get heard - from Henry’s Take On The Tour.

‘When a situation looks really, really ugly,’ I had earlier asked Tim Hardin’s road manager, ‘what do you do?’ (After all, I can’t imagine life on the road with notorious stoner Tim Hardin was all Misty Roses.) ‘Get out of it at once,’ he replied without hesitation.

If only things were so simple. But I feel compelled to see this thing through, if only to protect Abner’s investment. I rack my brains, but can’t see any way out of the trap. However, at this very moment, and under the same roof, a disaffected director of Worpt UK is scheming to permanently sideline his partners. (Clue: he wears baggy green corduroys and is a former psychiatric nurse.)

Back in the hotel-room, Abner gets his second wind. He whirls in a demented dervish, hurls half-empty bottles of beer and mineral water at the walls, and yells, ‘God-damn! I’m on tour with two assholes!’ This outburst seems to be a preliminary to a spot of good old hotel-room trashing. For the first time, I understand what this time-honoured ritual is all about. Yet I try to limit the destruction. ‘Don’t do it,’ I plead, as Abner passes over a box of John Fahey merchandise, and aims to propel a box of his own CDs through the window. ‘It’s Calavera. It’s your comeback CD. It’s a fucking masterpiece.’ This only seems to goad him further.

Then, all life drained in an instant, Abner drops on top of the nearest bed and snatches a foretaste of the oblivion to come. His loud snores keep me awake. After an indeterminate period, when sleep finally seems within reach, I jolt into full alertness. There’s a movement in the dark. I switch on the bedside light to behold Abner, fully-dressed and swaying, relieving himself against the wall. ‘I can’t deal with this right now,’ I think, and turn off the light again. In the morning, as Abner sleeps it off, I examine the relevant corner. There is no stain and no discernible smell of urine. Please God, it was all a bad dream.

The Tour Journal

Friday, September 17, 1999
Paul Kelly is loudly declaiming in the foyer of the Ibis (this at midday). His audience comprises hangers-on, casual passers-by and an American Primitive guitarist, but his remarks are addressed to Texas lawyer Abner Burnett. ‘I am not prepared to do business with a violent, drunken...’ (a pause as Kelly searches in his mind for the worst possible insult) ‘... bar-room singer!’ Abner looks perplexed as Kelly resumes his tirade. Deaf to every entreaty, he refuses to let Abner ride in the van. This despite the fact that Abner actually paid for the van hire with his credit card.

The scene becomes a muddle of overlapping altercations. I ask Bob Mills a second time about the money owed from ticket sales. For a man happy to work for love of music alone, he seems strangely reluctant to part with the green stuff. ‘Phone the police,’ roars Abner, who intends to report the van as stolen. At this, Bob loses his nerve, and produces a roll of sweaty bank-notes.

(It transpires that all proceeds from the Edinburgh concert go to the House of Dubois. This despite the fact that Worpt paid for the hall hire, sound-crew, artists’ fees etc. Bob Mills apparently signed the contract. The management of the Queens Hall consult their legal team and agree to pay the local promoter.)

‘Ring the police,’ Abner reiterates. But a simple phone call becomes a complex operation with a WorldCom Global Phone Card (the only thing the public phones in the hotel operate on, and I don’t want to loan Kelly’s mobile). Eventually, the voice of the law comes down the line to sweetly explain that an authorised person can’t be prevented from driving a hired vehicle. The voice expands on the difference between a civil offence and a criminal offence.

Oh God, I haven’t mentioned the missing DAT Recorder yet. To go back a moment: Abner had been asked to provide a DAT Recorder - along with the guitar that Fahey never used - in order to capture the concerts for posterity. He duly purchased the machine and put it to use. Shortly after the gig, Alex the Soundman returned the DAT Recorder to Abner at his seat in the bar. I recall some banter about using the tape for blackmail.

The DAT Recorder was left in the changing-room, along with guitars, CD merchandise, a camera, and other odds and ends waiting to be loaded in the wagon. Every item had been accounted for, with the exception of Abner’s DAT Recorder. Now, in the hotel foyer, each faction divide their possessions jealously. The amplifier - another item hired on Abner’s credit card, incidentally - goes Kelly’s way. He offers to carry the CDs to Manchester, but I decline. ‘Have you got the DAT Recorder?’ Kelly asks, with a smirk. (The serial number, if you should come by it, is SOI-0577723-H.)

Abner hires a car to take us to the next date, which happens to be my hometown of Manchester. There’s a moment of epiphany as the sun sets over the borderlands to the sound of Beethoven’s String Quartet No.13 on the car hi-fi. Abner explains the finer points of music. He plays me, for the first time, some new cuts from his bar-room band, Kay Kay And The Rays. Much later, we arrive at my flat and play back my voice-mail messages.

The tour is off, says a terse message from Kelly. Fahey has flown back to the States. We are to notify the tour venues and cancel existing hotel bookings. Furthermore, he, Kelly, has resigned as director from Worpt UK. Calls to his home for clarification are in vain. At one point, Kelly mimics the automated reply of an answer-machine to avoid conversation

The Tour Journal

Saturday, September 18, 1999
Masquerading as a homeless musician, Burnett busks outside the Royal Northern College of Music to a trickle of patrons expecting to attend a John Fahey concert. An elderly woman gyrates with abandon and proclaims her love for Abner. Of middle-European origin, she tries one dance-step after another and finally settles for something she calls ‘the Elvis Presley’. She is mad, of course, but in a refreshingly benign way.

Sunday, September 19, 1999
With unexpected time on our hands, Abner and I visit Blackpool. The trip amounts to a pilgrimage for Abner: Blackpool has been a source of fascination since he chanced to see the movie Funny Bones. His first sight of Blackpool Tower draws an excited reaction. ‘God-damn! This is it!’ he says, slapping his thigh with one hand while steering the car with the other. We go location-scouting for sites featured in the movie, giving priority to the bar-room scenes. We are rewarded with an anecdote about Oliver Reed from a barman in a basement bar just along from the Tower.

We stumble into a theme pub modelled along the lines of a ranch in the deep American south. Confederate flags and horse-saddles provide the decor. Abner, the only American in the place, is told to remove his jester’s cap (a new purchase from a sea-front arcade): baseball caps are the preferred headgear. A banner with the legend ‘The South Will Rise Again’ takes pride of place.

His euphoria has evaporated. Abner sinks into decline. He came to maturity in a state where secondary schools are routinely named after Confederate war-heroes, he tells me. ‘Don’t these idiots realise thay’re glorifying a culture that sanctioned slavery?’ He extemporises a hillbilly ballad to the country tune playing on the jukebox.

Your dainty hand and six fingers
So creamy smooth in the moonlight
Your eyes seem set pretty close together
I think you might be my baby tonight

Tell me your name
Do you mind that mine’s the same?
True love can conquer DNA

Your skin so beautiful and translucent
I think you might be my baby tonight

Back home, and the tune is forgotten at a hastily-convened sing-around in a converted public loo called The Temple of Convenience. Friends, players, singers and a bull terrier gather to lend moral support. The whiff of disaster is dispersed by conviviality, warmth of feeling and good singing (thank you Helen Pendry, Marcus Hickman, Clive Mellor, Mark Greer, Kirsty McGee, Scott Alexander, Kaisa and Juha Halinen, Sheila Seal, Alan Parry and Oscar).

Monday, September 20, 1999
If consolation can be had from the whole wretched business, it’s that the breach of contract is so transparent. Abner, with a true lawyer’s instinct, had inserted a clause in the contract to say that all disputes are to come under the jurisdiction of Ector County, Texas. Abner chuckles, happily anticipating what a jury in Texas will make of oddball John Aloysious.

It comes as a shock to discover that, contrary to the message, Kelly and Fahey are still at large and touring the country together, honouring some dates and cancelling others. The turncoat Worpt director and his artiste are causing chaos wherever they go. A radio session for Andy Kershaw is cancelled at short notice. The DJ offers a pointed remark about ‘enigmatic guitarists’ on his radio show.

Over a meal at a Chinatown restaurant, I brood on Kelly’s duplicity and my unwitting role in the debacle. ‘It couldn’t be worse,’ says Abner, inconsolably. ‘It’s worse than being in jail.’ He casts around for comparable misfortunes.

‘It’s worse than standing at a crap table where you can’t get any more credit because you’ve just pissed away 3000 dollars.’ He deftly picks up some grains of rice with his chopsticks. ‘It’s worse than your best friend playing mattress slam dunk with your girlfriend.’ A refill of shushi. ‘It’s worse than gettng the shit kicked out of you after you’ve picked a fight.’ An unworthy thought about the relaxed standards of the Ector County Bar Council flits across my mind.

We’re trying to get through this with enough of our asses left over to be able to grab with both hands. I know that each of you has worked hard to get this rolling. I believe we can pull it off. Woe to whomever wrongfully takes advantage of the situation. I don’t exactly understand the nature of it, but time’s revenge seems always to flow justly over the carcasses of the unrighteous - Abner Burnett to Mike Butler and Paul Kelly, 27 August, 1999.

Where are they now?

Derek Bailey, died December 25, 2005.

Abner Burnett is a director and attorney with the South Texas Civil Rights Project, based in San Juan, Texas. A new album, It Ought To Be Enough, is scheduled for release on Waterlily.

Mike Butler is a freelance music writer and a regular contributor to Metro.

John Fahey, died February 22, 2001, after undergoing a sextuple bypass operation at Salem Hospital. His swansong - Hitomi, on LivHouse Records - was released in 2000.

Paul Kelly currently lives in Newcastle, England, and helps organise On The Outside, an annual festival of improvised music in the city. He is proprietor of Music Stuff, a booking and tour management service for improvised music and musicians.

Bob Mills went to ground after repaying some money from Fahey’s Edinburgh concert to Worpt. Current whereabouts unknown.

Bob Mehr: Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

2008-01-12T17:56:00.001Z

How a high school teacher from Skokie passed for cantankerous guitar genius John Fahey.

Last year Fantasy Records released The Best of John Fahey Vol. 2: 1963-1983, positioning it as an overdue follow-up to a Fahey best-of from 1977. Fahey, the founding father of the "American primitive"steel-stringed acoustic guitar style, had died in 2001, but the label, with access to his enormous archive of tapes, included three unreleased tracks: two rerecordings of Fahey classics from the early 60s and an original called "Tuff" that no one had heard before. But it's not Fahey playing on those tracks, and "Tuff" isn't his song. All three are the work of Charlie Schmidt, a 42-year-old high school teacher who lives in Skokie.

A friend and sometime student of the innovative guitarist, Schmidt recorded the material in 1993 as part of a prank Fahey hoped to play on Shanachie, his label at the time. Fahey had a history of "sowing confusion and blurring attribution," as Schmidt puts it -- he credited a performance on one of his records to a mentor he'd invented for himself, an old black undertaker named Blind Joe Death, and in his liner notes he parodied the mythmaking impulse of folk revivalists, claiming to have made his first guitar from a baby's coffin. But he never got the chance to pass Schmidt's tapes off as his own, and they collected dust for a decade -- until the producers of last year's compilation, fooled by the exactitude of Schmidt's Fahey impression, took the bait. (Schmidt has sorted things out with Fahey's music publisher and informed Fantasy of the mistake, but the label has yet to respond.)

A third Fahey cover from the same session and a new version of "Tuff" -- under its proper title, "The Hyattsville Anti-Inertia Dance" -- appear on Schmidt's own debut album, Xanthe Terra, released in June by the Portland label Strange Attractors Audio House. Schmidt has spent most of his life as a closet musician -- he's played publicly only a handful of times since taking up the guitar at age six, and had never been in a studio before Fahey invited him to record -- but the release of the Fantasy disc started wheels turning for him. "My whole experience has been fairly unusual," he says. "I mean, I was someone who learned to play Fahey in my bedroom as a kid."

Schmidt encountered Fahey's music while in high school in Minnesota in the late 70s. "It took me about six months to be totally smitten," he says. "It transformed me, though." He met his idol during his freshman year at Gustavus Adolphus College, backstage at a show in Minneapolis. "My ruse was to offer to change his strings between songs," he says. "So I just went and introduced myself. I was really anxious around him. He was a very peculiar guy to be around. Made me nervous as hell."

Schmidt moved to the Chicago area in 1985 and kept in touch with Fahey. "I met him backstage like that nine or ten times over the years," he says. "Then he played in the Abbey Pub in late 1992. We hung out afterward and he seemed to be a little more approachable than usual. Much later he told me the reason was that I had passed all the tests."

At that time Shanachie owner Richard Nevins wanted Fahey to cut a new version of his 1963 album Death Chants, Breakdowns and Military Waltzes, but Fahey was experimenting with the electric guitar and disinterested in revisiting his old catalog. He asked Schmidt to do the recording instead. "To which I kinda sputtered and laughed," says Schmidt. "After all, I was just a fan. I had never even pushed my playing on him. But I thought about it for five minutes and took him up on the offer."

Schmidt went into a studio in Skokie in March 1993, recorded a note-perfect rendition of the album plus four of his own songs, and sent Fahey the master tapes. But then Shanachie dropped Fahey and Fantasy reissued the original version of Death Chants, rendering the project moot. Schmidt's tapes disappeared into Fahey's archive. "In retrospect I'm glad it was never released," he says. "I never gave them another thought."

But the two men's relationship continued to grow. "One day in the mail, there arrived a large box full of archival materials of his life," says Schmidt. "Letters, old receipts, photographs, writings. And then a couple weeks later, more boxes and material. It was his way of thanking me for doing the recording." It was also his way of asking Schmidt to write his biography. "I was flattered, but it was hard to make any progress with him on that," says Schmidt.

Fahey, who suffered from Epstein-Barr and diabetes, spent much of the 90s in poor health. And despite several new discs and reissues -- including the 1994 Rhino anthology Return of the Repressed and the experimental 1997 album Womblife, produced by avowed fan Jim O'Rourke -- by the end of the decade he was nearly destitute and living in welfare hotels or gospel missions. Schmidt visited him in Oregon in 1998, a surreal trip that inspired Xanthe Terra's opening track, "Salem Journeys." ("My notion of 'really messy room' was instantly redefined," he writes in the liner notes.)

The last time Schmidt saw Fahey was at the Empty Bottle in October 2000. "He played beautifully, one of his best concerts," he says. But four months later, at age 61, Fahey died of complications after heart surgery. At the funeral in Salem and at a memorial concert in Berkeley, California, where he was invited to play, Schmidt got acquainted with Cul de Sac guitarist and Fahey disciple Glenn Jones, who recommended him to the Strange Attractors label.

Schmidt is a married father of two school-age girls and teaches ESL full-time at Maine East High School in Park Ridge, so a music career won't be his first priority anytime soon. But Xanthe Terra has already received a glowing review in the Wire, and he seems to have caught the bug. "I want to continue making records and would love to share my work on the stage," he says. "It's been refreshing to hear what other people think about it."

And what would Fahey have thought? "I'd never venture to guess what he'd say about anything," says Schmidt, laughing. "But I like to think he'd approve."

--BOB MEHR

R. Anthony Lee a.k.a."Flea": The Wolves Are Gone Now

2008-01-12T17:42:00.000Z

The early musical life of John Fahey

Let’s begin with Chester Petranek. And let’s begin by correcting Fahey’s misspelling of his name as “Petranick”. Since my memory of these days is none too trustworthy, as will become glaringly obvious as we go along, I checked this by Googling on “Chester Petranek” and confirming that he was indeed the founding director of the Montgomery County (MD) Youth Orchestra, in which I played under him until 1955. Petranek was not, however, as Glenn Jones suggests, John’s high school guidance counselor. JF is closer to the truth when he says (Turtle notes VII) that Petranek was the director of a Takoma Park brass band; I can’t think of any band Fahey might have played in under Petranek (considering that he admits he played clarinet badly) except the Takoma Park Junior High band. He would not have been playing under Petranek in high school because he went to high school in Prince Georges County and Petranek didn’t teach in PG County, and John had probably dropped the clarinet like a live centipede

by that time anyway. However, John does credit Petranek with giving him, in that short time and under less than optimum circumstances, his first exposure to “Western hi-art” music. Whether this entirely explains Petranek’s later enshrinement as one of the major figures in Fahey’s mythology, one can never know. It may simply have been partly because “Chester Petranick” is a funny-sounding name (accent on the second syllable, by the way).

Although I must have played (French horn) in the same junior high school band with John for a year or two (I was two years ahead of him in school), I don’t remember him from there. I think I must have met him at the Episcopal Youth Fellowship of Trinity Episcopal Church, which was in a part of Takoma Park in Washington DC less than a mile across what was called the District Line. The meetings of the Youth Fellowship began with an Evening Prayer service, and presumably because of my modest repu-tation as a pianist, I had been asked to play organ for these services—little more than a few hymns, really. It must have been my playing for these services that attracted John’s attention, and somehow he ended up inviting me over to his house after the youth group meetings to listen to his records (this would have been about mid ’50s). With his usual stretching of reality, he claims (Turtle notes VII again) that he “hired a well-known church organicist, Mr Robert Anthony Flee. Mr Flee was to go around the Washington DC record shops and purchase what were, in his opinion, recordings of all the very good or better hi-art works, and teach Fahey something about them.” Well, aside from the probably deliberate misspelling of “organist” (perhaps a subtle reference to the fact that I was studying organic chemistry at University of Maryland after 1955), this departs from reality on the following points: (1) He didn’t hire me; it was an exchange between friends. (2) I was not a well-known church organist; I was an amateur beginning student totally unknown outside Trinity Episcopal. (3) I did not go around the Washington record shops to buy the records I thought he should hear; he already had his own collection at that time, which was at least as good as mine. In ironic fact, I probably learned at least as much about hi-art music from Fahey as he learned from me. It was he who introduced me to, among others, the Symphony #2 and the Finnish tone poems of Sibelius, Vaughan Williams’s Symphony #6, Roy Harris’s Symphony #3, Glière’s Symphony #3 “Ilya Murometz,” and probably Bernstein’s Symphony #2 “The Age of Anxiety” (which, written in 1949, would have been very new at that time). (As you can see, he was fond of symphonies.) In the notes to “Desperate Man Blues” (Legend of BJD), John refers to Sibelius’s 7th Symphony, and in Death Chants, the narrator “owes it” to Sibelius; I’m sure there must be other references which show his primary indebtedness to Sibelius, but I can’t find them. Vaughan Williams occurs as the composer of “King’s Weston” (“At the Name of Jesus,” Death Chants).

One composer I did introduce him to was Harry Partch, who is a minor figure in the myth, referred to mostly in terms of some of the instruments he invented to perform his music, e.g., cloud chamber bowls and surrogate kithera (Death Chants). When Glenn Jones compared the small audience for John’s first pressing of BJD to that for Partch on Gate 5, I was not surprised that he knew about Partch, but I was a little surprised that he knew about the Gate 5 label. My own connection with Partch is rather interesting. It seems that, as a young man in California, maybe in the ’20s, Partch had briefly and unsuccessfully wooed my Aunt Dorothy (which struck me as rather odd when I learned years later that he was gay). So I guess Aunt Dorothy told Partch some time in the ’50s about this nephew of hers who was interested in modern music, and lo and behold, at a time when I’d never heard of Partch, I received in the mail the Gate 5 issue of “Plectra and percussion dances.” I was immediately enthralled, and when I took it to John, he was immediately enthralled. This soon led to one of the many amusing incidents by which I’m sure we gave the Trinity youth group leader many gray hairs. It happened that Trinity had a phonograph system in the rector’s office which was used to play recordings of hymns on an electronic carillon—bad recordings of a bad sound played on a bad system—through loudspeakers installed in the belfry of the church, so that the hymns might be heard by the heathen masses. And it also happened that the first sound on the record was that of the cloud chamber bowls, which were made from glass carboys which had been used in the particle physics lab of some university, maybe U of C Berkeley, and which had a very bell-like sound—not quite carillons and not quite tubular chimes, but bell-like. So, as you might have guessed, the Demonic Duo, one evening after youth group, played Partch through the sound system, so that the heathen masses that night heard, not “Jesus loves me,” but “Plectra and percussion dances.” It was one of our better pranks, but we had already conspired to liven up the ordinarily dull Evening Prayer services when Fahey persuaded me to insert into the organ music passing references to some of the music we’d heard from his recordings, so I might subtly insinuate Harris’s 3rd Symphony or “Uncloudy day” into an improv while Fahey tried to hide behind the pew so people wouldn’t see him cracking up in hysterical laughter.

Since “Uncloudy day” was obviously not part of his hi-art repertoire, this brings up my other lesson from Fahey. In addition to the music mentioned above, he also gave me my first introduction to blue-grass/hillbilly and blues; I think he was collecting the first category before the second, and I clearly remember the likes of Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers and Flatt & Scruggs. Even this early he had developed his famous eclecticism, and would follow Sibelius’s Second symphony with the Stanley Brothers’ “White doves will mourn in sorrow” with no sense of disjunction. (Another example of our attempts to enliven the youth group meetings was when the leader asked if anyone had any ideas for group activities, and Fahey very seriously deadpanned, “I think we should go gathering flowers for the Master’s bouquet,” and I, having heard the Stanley Brothers record, immediately followed, just as dead-pan, “Beautiful flowers that never decay,” and then another member of our musical clique continued, “Gathered by angels and carried away,” and John finished, “Forever to bloom in the Master’s bouquet.” By this time, of course, the entire group was in stitches and the poor seminarian who was our leader was probably wondering if God had really called him for this kind of work.) It was also at this time that I remember him making his own early attempts at playing the guitar, still mostly imitating what he’d learned from the records, but already doing some of his earliest original work as well.

A word should be said about these activities taking place at his home after youth group. Both of us—he obviously, I less obviously—owe a great debt to his mother, Jane, who was an absolute saint and for me almost a surrogate mother (not a surrogate kithera), as I was not overly fond of my own sainted dam. I think she sometimes regarded her weird son and his weird friend with a certain perplexity, but she was an unfailing source of loving support and warmth and gracious hospitality, and I remember her very fondly. Oddly, I can remember the inside of their house, particularly John’s room, more clearly than I remember where it was located. The father was a mysterious, shadowy figure who was almost never there—fortunately, from what I gathered about him later from both Jane and John.

Wherever it was, I remember it had an enclosure in the back yard for Fahey’s turtles. As we all know, he was very fond of turtles; they were almost his totem animal more than his pets. Years later, when he had moved to an apartment where he couldn’t keep his own turtles, he made it his mission to rescue turtles he saw crossing the road, knowing they’d probably be hit if he didn’t help them. When he was driving through the South on his record-collecting trips, he would pull over to the side of the road in a screeching halt and run out into the middle of traffic to pick up a turtle. He would give long diatribes about turtles at his concerts. He knew perfectly well (I think) that “the voice of the turtle” in the Song of Solomon referred to the turtle-dove, but he chose to interpret it as a member of the Order Chelonia for his own purposes.

Ah yes, the record-collecting trips. In Transfiguration, the disgusting, degenerate, insipid young folklorist asks the somewhat equivocal shoeshine man if he has any old arms or legs he’d like to sell.

In his record-collecting trips, he would walk through the rural Southern black ghettos waving an old 78 and yelling, “Got any old phonograph records? Buyin’ up old records!” And occasionally, whether out of discouragement or just ordinary insanity, he really would yell, “Got any old arms or legs you’d like to sell? Buyin’ up old arms and legs!” This was in the early to mid ’60s, and it’s been suggested that one of the reasons he managed to survive unscathed from being a conspicuously white presence in the rural black South at a time when civil rights workers were being murdered for such audacity, was simply because the rednecks, if they noticed him at all, probably dismissed him as too crazy to bother with.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. This all happened after I had come back from Army duty. In February 1957, during what might loosely be called a nervous breakdown, I’d joined the Army, and thus didn’t see anything of John until my discharge in April 1960, although I occasionally got a few of what passed for letters from him, which presaged his later liner notes in their rambling surrealism. Actually, the one exception to the above was one and a half months in late 1958 when I was in a nut ward at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, only a few miles from Takoma Park, having been declared crazy by an Army shrink for telling my commanding officer that I refused to recognize his authority. I had off-base privileges at WRAMC and so was able to visit my old stomping grounds several times, and by this time Fahey had moved his church affiliation from Trinity to St Michael & All Angels, Adelphi, which figures prominently in the early records. As I later learned from Glenn’s superb history of this time in his notes for BJD, John had also by this time started his recording career with the first pressing of BJD, but I don’t remember John mentioning it at the time. Actually, and ironically, it is at about this time that my memory begins to fail me on a lot of points, and I’m greatly indebted to Jones for his history. Soon after I got my Army discharge, Fahey introduced me to St Michael’s, which had recently lost its organist, and John was instrumental in getting me hired as the new organist there. By this time he had already established his following of what I call his adoring fans, which included, among those mentioned in the liner notes and the official website, David and Robbie (“Grubbert”) Gardner and, most importantly, Nancy McLean. The McLean and Gardner homes became valuable gathering places and emotional refuges for both of us, and Nancy’s mother Janet became greatly significant in my own later career in church music, as Nancy was (in a different way) in John’s. As I only recently learned from Jones, Fahey’s career was already beginning to take off in the early ’60s, and I was blissfully unaware of it at the time; I was still thinking of John as an interesting friend who had a devoted following of teeny-boppers at St Mike’s. In fact, I was by this time becoming less and less a part of his musical life and development, and was outside the new circle of colleagues and professional contacts he was developing —Denson, Bussard, all the others—not, I think, by deliberate rejection, but simply because I didn’t fit in. I didn’t play their music or their instruments, I didn’t go to their concerts, and with the exception of “Will the circle be unbroken,” I was not useful to them.

However, I was still part of the original group of friends, and there were moments, during Fahey’s return visits from his activities in Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Boston, when there was a sort of return to earlier times. Before he studied philosophy at Berkeley, he had studied it at American University in Washington DC, and I clearly remember the time when he came to my house to pick me up in his old Chevy and drove around for quite a while hysterically yelling, “Beeble greeble freeble snarf! Grable mable spagle warf! Bargle snargle warfle splork!” (another precursor of the later liner notes). It turned out he’d become unhinged from reading Sartre’s Being and nothingness, and for months afterwards at St Mike’s, he would suddenly, at totally inappropriate moments, yell with oracular emphasis, “BEING IS!!” and then break into maniacal laughter. One of his adoring fans, who was an acolyte in the church, painted “BEING IS” on the soles of his shoes, so it would be visible to the congregation while he was kneeling at the altar.

And there was the time I almost broke into the new circle by arranging a series of concerts myself—three, I think—although I can’t remember when they were. The first one of the series was at St Mike’s, down in the basement—an unimaginably horrible place acoustically and in every other way for a perfor-mance—and, being still pretty clueless about the success Fahey was already enjoying, I can remember being totally blown away at what a huge crowd it drew. (Some of the recordings located at St Michael’s may have been made at this concert.) This was also the first time I saw his soon-to-become-famous stage presence, which included most memorably his obsessive tuning of the guitar for about five minutes after each set. There were times when he seemed to spend more time tuning it than playing it, remind-ing me of the quote attributed to Stravinsky: “Harpists spend ninety percent of their lives tuning their harps and ten percent playing out of tune.”

A word might be said about the gas station behind “The Gas Station Tape” and “The Not Gas Station Tape.” Fahey did indeed work the night shift at Martin’s Esso in Langley Park, one of those amorphous suburbs in the sprawl that was sort of indistinguishable from Adelphi or Lewisdale. The station was on the central intersection of Langley Park (University Boulevard & New Hampshire Avenue), and people new to the area would stop and ask John how to get to Langley Park, and he would give them directions sending them in about a 10-mile-long circle which brought them right back to Martin’s Esso, where they would look in confusion at Fahey, who would smile cheerfully and wave to them as they drove by. Being a slow shift, the job allowed him a lot of time to sit out front and practice—reminiscent of Blind Eggplant Langlais, who used to sit outside his used hodolog outlet in Heliotrope late at night and practice extemporaneous passacaglias on his diamond marimba—and it’s credible that he could have made some tapes there. If Martin’s Esso, or a successor gas station, is still there, perhaps they should be asked to put up a memorial plaque recognizing the station’s role in Fahey’s early career.

In July 1968 I moved to Colorado and very soon totally lost touch with Fahey, primarily because he was one of the worst people I ever knew for writing letters. But this is about his early musical life, and once we get past 1968, it’s no longer very early. I not only lost touch with him personally, I also lost touch with his later musical career and recordings, which I gather went off into some directions that departed rather radically from his earlier history—vide Stravinsky, Pärt, the Beatles, et al. But my memory is of the young Fahey and his early, bittersweet, soul-stirring, grist-laden, chthonic, plangent, equivocal, dithyrambic, hodological, polymorphic, transsubstantial music.